


Just A Touch

by sobsicles



Category: Supernatural
Genre: A Kitsune who judges books by the cover and is only right half the time, Cas and Dean pretend to get a divorce, Castiels grace is also in this, Dean and Cas cant touch, Except them of course, Four Witches with One Brain Cell between them, Humor with mild Angst, Literally everyone knows Cas and Dean are married, M/M, Of a sorts, Reverse Love Spell, Reverse Pretend Relationship, Sam is the best as always, Sort Of, matching handprints!!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-24 08:15:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 27,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20702789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sobsicles/pseuds/sobsicles
Summary: When Castiel gets kidnapped by four mediocre witches with one brain cell between them, a spell keeps Dean from being able to touch him. A journey to fix this mistake has a few snags along the way, and Castiel never expected to play a role where he's divorcing Dean, nor did he expect to have Dean taking a stroll within his subconscious, but here he is. A tale of cheeky witches, a matchmaking kitsune, and a yearning for contact leads Castiel to one unrelenting conclusion:Just a touch can change a mind, leave a mark, and say more than words ever will.





	1. the touch, like a fire, burns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Great big shout out to the lovely mods for running such an awesome, fun challenge! They were so amazing, and I enjoyed it so very much! 
> 
> Shout out to my betas: Captainhaterade, Jscribbles, and Malmuses for being literal saints and catching all my mistakes!!! Thank you all so much ❤
> 
> And a huge shout out to my lovely artists, deliciousirony, for being so lovely and kind during this collaboration. The art is so beautiful and I'll cherish it forever! Thank you ❤
> 
> You can find the art here

All things considered, Castiel found solace in the fact that his life couldn't get any worse than this. 

The room was cold and barren, stinking of mold and the dried-out husks of slain goats. Being strung up to one of the large concrete posts was the least of Castiel's worries, considering the four witches chanting in the middle of the room. 

Their long robes swept to the floor, hands clasped together as words they didn't fully understand flowed from their mouths. Castiel struggled not to roll his eyes at the gong one of the witches intermittently kicked for a background hum. 

“Excuse me,” he called politely, resisting the urge to sigh when they continued to chant. He tried again, louder. “Excuse me!” 

All at once, the chanting stopped and four heads swiveled to land on him. Castiel arched an eyebrow, moving his wrists and rattling his chains pointedly. One witch, a lumbering man with a long beard, broke away, and from what Castiel could tell, he was the leader of this strange coven. 

The man approached him with a scowl. “Quiet, angel. You interrupt us again, and you'll be dead.” 

“I'm sure.” Castiel tilted his head slightly. “May I ask, just what exactly _ are _you doing?” 

“You'll find out soon enough.” 

“Well, actually… I already know what you're doing, but I'm not sure you're aware.” 

“What?” The man narrowed his eyes. “We know exactly what we're doing. The spell is going to magnetize your grace from your body so that we may use it as an ingredient. The fuck do _ you _think we're doing?” 

Castiel rolled his eyes then, unable to completely grip the absolute idiocy of some humans. “No, you are doing a variation of a love spell, incorrectly I might add. My grace will be affected, yes, but it will only increase its kinship to _ me, _not you. Everyone in this room will want to have intercourse with each other, while my grace will stay adorned to me. Just who do you think will survive between four mediocre witches and one hellbent angel?” 

The hit was expected, really. Castiel's head snapped to the side with it, and he could feel an immediate throb set up shop in his jaw. Sighing, he rolled his jaw around, irritating the offended area even more, and glared as the man shook his fist out. 

“Mediocre,” he scoffed, moving back to the other witches, “I'll show you mediocre.” 

Castiel tipped his head back and waited. If they were so pressed, he would let them go through with the spell. He almost found it fitting, since they were the ones who kidnapped him right out of the grocery store parking lot. 

Dean was going to be _ furious. _

It wasn’t his fault he'd been snatched up without warning by four witches who had access to angel-proof restraints. They'd certainly done their research, that was very blatant. Dean would just have to keep his bitching to himself, Castiel was in no mood to hear it. 

They went back to chanting, and Castiel cringed for more reasons than one. Not only were they mispronouncing the words, they were saying them in the incorrect order. 

On top of that, his jaw was buzzing with discomfort. He'd never really experienced discomfort until he'd become human, and even now, it was a dimmed feeling. But as more time passed while he aligned himself with humanity, he became susceptible to their meager concerns—such as eating, sleeping, _ feeling. _While it was mostly an amusing—if slightly inconvenient—experience, he knew there was one downside to his new status. 

Even stuck somewhere between human and angel, Castiel could admit that he missed not feeling pain, emotional, physical, or otherwise. 

“That's not the correct word,” Castiel mocked loudly, dropping his chin to stare in bemusement at the witches. “You meant desire, but you said _ repulsed. _Why those two opposing words are so similar, I do not know, but you have to-” 

“Shut the fuck up!” the man exploded, cutting off their chanting once again. 

Castiel gave a shrug, making his chains clink against the stone. “I'm simply informing you that you're mispronouncing your enchantment.” 

“Yeah, well, fuck off,” the man replied sharply, turning back to his fellow witches and starting the chanting up again. 

Resigned to simply let it happen, Castiel tipped his head back and closed his eyes, waiting. Sometimes, forces destroyed themselves at their own hand, greed and eagerness leading to miscalculation and ruin. He'd learned that firsthand and made no other moves to save them. 

He did not open his eyes until he heard the rickety door open with a loud clang and Dean let out a loud curse. When his eyes snapped open, he squinted against the light erupting around the clasped hands of the witches. Their chanting was as inaccurate as ever, but somehow, they were creating some form of magic. 

“Dean!” Castiel yelled, eyes growing wider as Dean stood warily on the sidelines, uncertain as to whether to stop the witches or free Castiel. 

In the end, he chose Castiel. 

“What the fuck are they doing?” Dean's hands shook as he started unlocking the chains with a hairpin. “How did you get caught?” 

Castiel grimaced as his wrists fell, aching as the blood rushed back to them. “I'm not entirely sure.” 

“Don't you-” 

The rest of Dean's words were drowned out at the room rocked with an explosion, lights filling every corner of the room. Castiel tackled Dean to the ground, covering his head to the best of his abilities. He glanced up and watched as all the witches’ heads snapped back, glowing with a red light until they exploded, sending chunks of brain splatter across the room as their headless bodies fell to the floor with a dull thump. 

Castiel was about to make sure Dean was alright when heat suddenly exploded over his skin. It prickled at him, growing intense, and he squirmed to try and escape it. 

“Ow, fuck, what the fuck, Cas. Shit, _ ouch-” _

Burning flesh prickled his nose, and the source was his arm, a bit below his right shoulder. Dean was gripping him tight, fingers splayed wide, and he wasn't letting go. It took Castiel a moment longer than normal to realize that he had his knee in Dean's gut, but he was ultimately distracted by his arm feeling on fire. 

It hurt more than getting punched in the face, more than Dean telling him he had to leave, more than his wings shredding to pieces. Dean's grip on his arm burned straight through his trenchcoat, skin on skin, scalding and branding him. 

There was nothing for it. Castiel gripped Dean's wrist and flung his hand away roughly, gritting his jaw as he stood up stiffly. 

Dean blinked at his hand in surprise. “Cas, what-” 

“Do _ not _touch me,” Castiel hissed, curling his shoulder towards him and peering down at the bubbled wound in the shape of Dean's hand. 

Dean flinched back at his harsh tone, green eyes clouding with hurt and alarm for a moment. Castiel immediately felt apologetic for snapping, even amidst the ever-present heat of his arm, but he couldn't say anything before Dean stood up and wiped it away, looking aloof. 

“Excuse the hell outta me,” Dean muttered gruffly, standing up and dusting his pants off as he flicked his gaze over the headless bodies. “You got any idea what happened to them?” 

Castiel stared down at the brand on his arm. “No,” he admitted faintly. 

“Well… are you alright?” Dean asked quietly, shuffling a little closer. 

“I believe so.” Castiel warily turned his arm so Dean could see it. “I think you burned me, though.” 

Dean stared at his arm in surprise, dipping his head to get a closer look. Slowly, he lifted his hand and hovered it beside the wound, measuring it. They both stared at his welting skin, gazing at the perfect match in open wonder and shock. 

“I- I didn't mean to.” Dean swallowed and blinked, dropping his hand and looking pale. “Shit, Cas, I'm sorry. I didn't know.” 

Castiel gave him a tight smile. “It's alright, I did not believe you intended to. I am fairly certain it had to do with their botched spell,” he said, nodding to the dead witches. “They had plans for my grace, but they were idiots. I have no idea what they did to us.” 

“Maybe it was a fluke,” Dean suggested with a frown, eyeing the bodies warily. “We'll call Rowena, see what she has to say. In the meantime, we got to get the fuck outta Dodge, come on.” 

As Dean passed him, leading out towards the car, he mindlessly clapped Castiel on the shoulder. The impact was heavy, but that didn't hurt at all. The sting and singe left him hissing through his teeth as he yanked away from Dean's hand. 

Dean froze in place, eyes wide, and Castiel rubbed at his prickling shoulder. “Dean,” he murmured, “please do not touch me.” 

“Did I burn you again?” 

“No. It was a mere sting, as is the beginning of a burn; I think prolonged holds get worse. Until we figure out what happened, refrain from touching anyone, okay?” 

Dean heaved a sigh, lips twisting bitterly. He bobbed his head, shoulders drooping, and started back towards the car. Castiel felt pity for him, all too knowledgeable on how Dean saw himself. The fact that his touch caused pain was undoubtedly _ bad _for his self-image, but there was nothing to be done. 

Following him to the car, Castiel gingerly slid in, eyes going back to the brand on his arm. It was red and raised, looking irritated, but it was healing at a slow rate due to his grace. Well, the pain was fading, but there would most certainly be a scar. 

Dean cleared his throat as he cranked the car and pulled them to the road. “Well, at least we match now,” he joked weakly, smile falling before it could even form. 

“Match?” Castiel echoed, eyes narrowing. 

One hand coming up off the wheel, Dean jerked his left arm out of his jacket and yanked up his shirt. He curled his body towards Castiel, showing off his own scar. Castiel had to lean up and squint to see it, as it was faded and barely there now. 

“Maybe yours will actually go away,” Dean suggested lightly, rolling his sleeve down and sliding his arm back into his jacket. 

Castiel blinked. “I wasn't aware that was still there.” 

“It's light, but it ain't going away.” 

“Did it hurt, before?” 

“At first, it twinged, but it wasn't so bad. Barely notice it now, 'cause I can barely see it.” Dean tossed him a grin. “Makes for a weird-as-fuck conversation with people who notice it, though.” 

“What do you tell them?” 

“Couldn't very well say an angel gave it to me when he saved me from hell, could I? Nah, I just told people it was a tattoo.” 

Castiel seriously doubted that made any sense, but he hummed quietly. “I see. And they believed you? Do people usually get tattoos of hands?” 

“People get tattoos of all kinda shit. I met a girl who had the Hamburger Helper glove tattooed inside her thigh with the quote _ “I need a helping hand,” _ and she was totally proud of it.” Dean shrugged. “People do all kinds of wild shit, man.” 

“That is… strange,” Castiel admitted with a huff of laughter. 

“You're telling me,” Dean agreed, mood increasing by the second, and he slapped a hand out to tap Castiel's left arm, the one without the brand. 

Castiel immediately jerked back and released a short growl of pain, rubbing at the spot Dean had mindlessly touched. 

“Dammit, Dean,” Castiel snapped, looking at Dean with a glare. 

“Shit, sorry, I wasn't thinking. I just-” 

“It's fine. Just… be careful.” 

Dean pursed his lips. “Fine. Yeah, sorry.” 

They dipped into sudden silence as the sting faded quickly and took Castiel's ire with it. He wanted to apologize again, knowing that Dean meant him no harm, but the time for apologies had passed. Instead, he sighed and closed his eyes as they continued down the road. 

Before long, a thought struck Castiel. 

“Where is Sam?” he asked abruptly, picking his head up to stare at Dean. 

“Oh, yeah, about that…” Dean reached up to scratch at his cheek, averting his eyes. “I kinda left him at the hotel with the kid?” His voice curled high as if he was asking a question, and when Castiel waved a hand for him to go on, he heaved a sigh and hunkered down in his seat before continuing. “Sam insisted we have a plan before we just… burst in, 'specially with Jack, so I might have snuck out when he was in the shower.” 

“Dean,” Castiel reprimanded.

“Well, I wasn't just gonna wait around for things to get _ worse. _Shit, we didn't even know what they were doing to you. How the fuck did they get you anyway?” 

“Do _ not _turn this around on me. You were the one who completely disregarded your brother's reasonable planning. Things could have gone much worse than they are now.” 

Dean waved a finger, clicking his tongue. “And don't _ you _avoid my question. What the fuck happened?” 

“I was out, getting the orange juice Sam requested, and your pie. I admit, I may have gotten distracted in the art supply section—did you know they have over a hundred colors of yarn to select from? I almost got Fading Whiskey Hangover on principle alone,” Castiel admitted, lips twitching. 

“You are a simple angel.” Dean sighed, shaking his head, but his smile couldn't be hidden. “So, what? They grabbed you in the store?” 

“No, they got me at my car. They bound me with the Enochian chains, and when we arrived, they circled me in holy oil to keep me in place as I weakened.” 

“There was no fire when I got there.” 

“It dimmed down and they put it out. There was no need for it once the Enochian they used to weaken me took effect. Not that I was too worried, they were terrible witches.” Castiel rolled his eyes, shaking his head slightly. 

“Well, they managed to do _ something.” _Dean frowned at him. “I can't even touch you, man. Which doesn't seem like a big deal, but do you even realize the amount of times we actually bump into other people? What if I forget and accidentally burn Jack?” 

Castiel sighed softly. “We will call Rowena. I do not believe it was strong magic. What makes it dangerous is that it was inaccurate.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean, the spell they _ meant _to use, they messed up. Their words were all wrong, their pronunciation was horrific; the translation shouldn't have even worked.” 

“But it did. Or, something did.” 

“Magic is fickle, Dean. In the early stages, chanting was less necessary. People had more of a grip on magic, and their _ intent _was enough to cast what they wanted. People now, they require a tether, something to reach out and call forth the magic within them.” 

Dean clicked his tongue, unimpressed. “So, they were shitty witches who could tap into their magic more than others?” 

“Basically,” Castiel admitted with a frown. “My guess is, they did the spell _ wrong, _ but their intent and magic was strong enough to cause something; too strong in the end, as it overtook them.” 

“Fucking witches, man.” 

“Indeed.” 

The rest of the ride was held in silence. It was more comfortable than anything, and Castiel tipped his head back with a sigh. He wasn't dozing, but his eyes snapped open when they suddenly came to a stop. 

Another dingy hotel, another dried out husk of a town. Castiel wasn't even sure where the witches had taken him. 

As soon as Baby shut off, engine whirring in a low hum of rest, the hotel door in front of her opened up and Sam's head poked out. In the headlights, his eyes squinted, but they could easily make out his pissed off expression. Castiel _ almost _chuckled. 

“I'm in trouble,” Dean announced in amusement. 

“As you should be. You did a very stupid thing.” 

“Well, it isn't the first time, won't be the last. Come on, let's face the music.” 

Castiel rolled his eyes and followed Dean out the car, watching as Sam stepped out of the room and shut the door with a click. His arms crossed, hip cocking just so, and his eyes were bright with anger. 

“Dean, what the _ hell _were you thinking?” Sam hissed, taking a few steps closer to get near Dean, trying to keep his voice down. 

Dean rolled his eyes. “I was thinking that you're the sensible one, and I'm the one who wasn't gonna let Cas get killed.” 

“Hello, Sam,” Castiel interjected quietly, offering a smile when Sam looked at him, his face immediately softening with delight. 

“Hey, Cas, glad you're back.” Sam focused back on Dean. “But you're not off the hook. You _ have _to start thinking shit through, Dean. Jack was worried, plus we have to set a good example for him.” 

“Well, while you were off planning, I was saving Cas from death by idiots, so. Also, should probably tell you, and _ don't _ say a damn word because we can probably fix it, _ and _it was worth it. But uh-” 

Sam reached out grabbed Dean's shoulder, narrowing his eyes. “What happened?” 

Dean blinked and looked down at Sam's hand. Slowly, he reached up and poked Sam's wrist, looking wary. They all waited, but Sam didn't seem affected in the slightest; he was only bemused. 

“Maybe it went away?” Dean suggested lightly, looking back at Castiel hopefully. 

Castiel released a small sigh, aware that there was only one way to actually find out. Without saying a word, he stepped up beside Dean, reaching out to wrap his hand around his wrist. Immediately, heat exploded at the contact, sharp and scalding, and Castiel yanked his hand back with a hiss. 

“What did you _ do?” _ Sam muttered, dropping his hand from Dean's shoulder to yank Castiel's hand up, blinking at the irritated skin. 

Sam's contact didn't hurt at all. 

“Guess not,” Dean mumbled, looking down at his hands with a furrowed brow. 

“What the fuck is _ that?” _Sam's eyes landed on Castiel's arm, staring at Dean's handprint in shock. 

Shrugging, Castiel said, “It seems that Dean's touch burns me. We got in the crossfire of an inaccurate spell gone haywire. We are not entirely sure what it was, or what it causes. Dean feels no pain, but I experience intense pain at his touch.” 

“I _ told _you-” 

Dean waved a hand, cutting him off. “Yeah, whatever. Just… not now, alright? Can you call Rowena? She likes you better than us.” 

Sam scoffed, but he couldn't hide how distinctly pleased that made him. “Fine,” he muttered. “But it may be a minute before she can get to us.” 

“Why?” 

“She's in Tahiti, robbing some poor rich dude blind. Should be close to being done though; I made her promise not to kill him, so. But yeah, I'll call her.” 

“In the meantime,” Castiel murmured, “we will do our own research at the bunker.” 

“And I can't touch you,” Dean said, sounding slightly bitter about that. 

Castiel and Sam stared at him for a beat, trying to gauge just how badly he was going to take this. It was less about being able to touch Castiel, and more about the fact that his mere touch _ hurt _him. For Dean, that was like fueling the darkest voices in his mind, the ones that taunted him, the ones that said he was nothing more than a disease. Castiel felt partially guilty, unsure how to comfort him. 

“Well, actually, we have a case,” Sam told them, averting his gaze from Dean's flat expression. 

“Since when?” 

“Since I did some digging. Turns out, four different people died here in the last two months. Didn't look like much, but they're all missing their pituitary gland.” 

Dean frowned. “Kitsune,” he said quietly. 

“Looks like,” Sam agreed with a sigh. 

“Alright, we will look into it,” Castiel said decisively, flicking his gaze to his wounded arm. “Until then, I will need to borrow a shirt, Dean. Also-” 

“Yeah, don't touch you, got it,” Dean snapped, clenching his fists and heading towards the room. 

The door slammed behind him, loud and sharp, and Castiel glanced at Sam warily. “This is not going to go well. Call Rowena immediately.” 

“On it,” Sam replied with a sigh, already digging his phone out of his pocket. 

Castiel left him to the call, slipping into the hotel room more quietly and with less fanfare than Dean had. He rarely had feelings about any of the cases they went on, only enjoying the time spent with his family, but this one left him feeling dread. For the duration of this case, Dean would not be able to touch him, and for some reason, that bothered Castiel more than he could say. 

Unfortunately, there was nothing to be done about it; they'd both have to adapt, if they could. 


	2. we can pretend that this will end

“You want me to  _ what?”  _

Castiel blinked at Dean's outburst, sharing a look with Sam in the rearview mirror as he slammed on brakes and yanked them to the side of the road. 

Calmly, Sam repeated, “You and Cas need to pretend to be divorced.” 

Dean slowly turned in the seat to stare at Sam. They looked at each other for a long moment, both with a stubborn glint in their eyes. Castiel waited patiently to see who would win, internally believing it would be Sam, and prepared himself to get ready to play a role he'd never thought to be in.  _ Divorced.  _ Such a horrific concept, even with how common it was. 

“Why in the hell would we do that?” 

“Well, because the last four victims had one thing in common: their divorce counselor.” 

“That's a thing?” Dean muttered. 

“Mhm,” Sam confirmed with a grimace. “Not many divorced couples see eye-to-eye about how they're gonna split their things. There is usually  _ a lot  _ of fighting about who gets the kids when, who gets the house, who gets what amount of money. It's pretty normal to get a divorce counselor to kind of mediate, I guess.” 

“Aren't there lawyers for that kind of shit?” 

“Usually, but if you don't have to take it to court, why would you? Court fees are  _ expensive.  _ Besides, a divorce counselor are for those who aren't splitting horribly. It's mutual and they aren't trying to steal from each other.” 

“Why can't you and Cas do it?” Dean asked with narrowed eyes. “I don't wanna be the asshole who doesn't love him anymore; hell, I already can't touch him. And what about Jack?” 

Sam rolled his eyes. “I'm gonna be Jack's lawyer, and I can't do it because I can't be the lawyer to the both of you as his parents. Which is kinda important, considering Jack is y'alls kid.” 

“On the paperwork?” Castiel asked, confused. 

“No,” Sam replied, tossing a look over his shoulder, rolling his eyes. “When Jack got sick, and Dean filled out the paperwork, he panicked and put me down as his relative - his uncle, actually. He didn't put y'all down at all, and as far as the divorce counselor is concerned, y'all were away on a vacation in Cancun when Jack got sick.” 

Dean scoffed. “Great, so me and Cas are getting a divorce, and we're dragging Jack through the whole thing.  _ Why  _ are we getting a divorce?” 

“I didn't say,” Sam admitted sheepishly. “I figured you two could figure that out. It's not technically necessary, but you should have some kind of backstory. Adultery, maybe?” 

Dean's head nearly collided into the wheel as he swung his whole body towards Sam, face grim with anger. “I would  _ never.”  _

“Well, Cas could-” 

“Don't,” Castiel warned sharply, narrowing his eyes as Sam clicked his tongue. 

“Fine, whatever.” Sam huffed, raising his hands in surrender and making a face. “So,  _ why  _ are you getting a divorce, then?” 

“Cas?” Dean asked, swiveling in his seat, arching an eyebrow. “Why don't we wanna be fake-married anymore? Why are we getting fake-divorced?” 

Castiel gave an aborted shrug. “I see no liable reason we would ever get a divorce if the scenario was ever to be real. More likely, we'd be widowed before we would get a divorce. We are much too stubborn and determined to simply  _ give up  _ on a relationship.” 

Dean waved a hand, staring at Sam pointedly. “See? Death is the only way we're not together, apparently, so jot that down.” 

“Guys, come on,” Sam insisted, rolling his eyes. “Divorce isn't always about giving up, okay? Sometimes, people just… make mistakes. Or, they're unhappy. Just, I dunno,  _ pick  _ something.” 

“Yeah, but we have to  _ really  _ dislike each other, right? Oh!” Dean snapped his fingers, eyes lighting up as his lips curled into a smirk. “I could just say that he doesn't get any of my references and won't admit to liking Western movies.” 

“You're being annoying on purpose.” 

“The sex is bad. 'Cause, ya know, we don't have any sex. So, that's a good reason.” 

“Dean, you'll get laughed out of the room,” Sam muttered, pulling his phone out and squinting at the screen as he typed something in. “Okay, so we got… infidelity, money problems, lack of communication, oh- lack of intimacy  _ is  _ a reason, I guess.” 

Dean shrugged, looking at Castiel in question. “So, you're on some celibacy kick, and I am  _ dying.  _ Sound good enough to you?” 

“None of these reasons feel authentic,” Castiel murmured, looking uncertain. “I wouldn't-” 

“Nope, that's fine,” Sam said quickly, raising a hand. “Really don't need to hear how you'd bone my brother enough to  _ not  _ get a divorce.” 

“Dude, come on,” Dean hissed, making a face, going a little red around his ears. 

“Maybe I feel like you care more about your car than you do me?” Castiel suggested, arching his eyebrows, lips twitching. “Not  _ completely  _ accurate, but it holds merit.” 

Dean fondly rubbed the steering wheel, eyes going soft. “Dunno why'd that ever be an issue, you'd know that from day one. You'd have to say wedding vows to me  _ and  _ Baby.” 

Sam snorted. “Valid enough reason, Cas. Alright, for this, Jack is… sixteen, and he is old enough to pick which parent he wants to stay with.” 

They all turned to look at the corner Jack was curled up in, mouth slack, snoring quietly. He looked young enough to pass as sixteen, so that wouldn't be an issue. Castiel frowned at the thought that Jack would ever have to choose such a thing. 

“So, which one?” Dean asked. 

“Whoever he picks, I guess,” Sam answered, shrugging sheepishly. “It'll all be worked out in the meeting.” 

“Right. And you think the counselor is the kitsune?” 

“Yeah, I think so. Honestly, I think he picks his victims by whoever the worst spouse is? I'm not sure how it goes, but keep an eye out.” 

“This has  _ got  _ to be one of the stupidest ideas you've ever had, Sam,” Dean grumbled, cranking the car back up and pulling them back on the road. 

“Compared to some of the shit you've come up with, this is  _ smart.”  _

“Watch it, bitch.” 

As Sam and Dean lightly bickered back and forth, Castiel settled back into his seat with a small smile. He glanced down at the handprint Dean had left him, noticeable just under the hem of the shirt he'd borrowed from Dean. Throughout the night, slowly but surely, the handprint had healed and faded into a light scar, not unlike the one Dean had on his left arm. 

Castiel was unwaveringly fascinated with the blemish, now that it didn't hurt at all. In all honesty, he'd forgotten the mark his grace had left on Dean, even assumed it had faded. He wondered how Dean felt about it, though he was sure that his view on the mark didn't align to Castiel's. 

This would never go away, that much Castiel knew. Even if he could have fully healed it, the scar would have remained. Whatever magic accompanied Dean's touch, it was  _ vibrant.  _ The grip had searred all the way to his grace, never to be removed. Dean hadn't asked, probably assumed that Castiel wasn't strong enough to heal it fully—which, he wasn't—and Castiel made no move to inform him. 

Sam leaned over the seat, shaking Jack's shoulder lightly to wake him. “Hey, we're here. Remember what I told you?” 

Jack blinked awake, bobbing his head as he yawned wide. “Yes. I am Dean and Castiel's son, they are getting a divorce, and I have to pick which parent to live with.” 

“Great,” Sam said pleasantly. 

Dean waggled his eyebrows at Jack as he flung his door open. “Stay with me and you can eat cake every night. No more school, either.” 

“This is entirely fake,” Castiel stated flatly, rolling his eyes. He looked at Jack with a soft smile. “We're not here to see who you'd pick, we're here to hunt a kitsune. Just say the first name that pops into your head, okay?” 

“Okay,” Jack agreed with a sweet smile. 

“Alright, Cas, time to hate each other.” Dean winked at him playfully. “Whatever we say for the next hour is all bullshit that we can laugh about later.” 

Castiel nodded. “Okay, Dean.” 

With that, Sam straightened his tie, Dean clambered out of the car with a scowl, and Jack ducked out with a frown slipping into place. Following suit, Castiel slipped out of the car as Sam did, letting his expression go blank. He and Dean kept a wide berth as they walked into the office, Jack walking in between them with his eyes on his shoes. 

Sam went to the front desk and Castiel followed Jack and Dean over to the waiting chairs. Dean sat down and Castiel planted himself three chairs away. 

The wait wasn't too long, mostly spent in utter silence. Jack casually flipped through magazines and Dean fiddled with his phone. Castiel entertained himself by watching the receptionist flick her gaze between the three of them curiously. When she caught him looking, her cheeks bloomed with red and she quickly looked back to her computer. 

“Mr. Campbell and Mr. Novak?” 

The names were enough to grab their attention, and Castiel stood when Dean did. They both motioned for Jack to follow, eyes straying towards each other as they sometimes did. For a beat, they forgot they were supposed to be fighting, and Castiel could feel the casual normalcy behind the warmth in Dean's gaze. 

All at once, they remembered their roles and both narrowed their eyes as they turned away with a scoff. 

“Keith Worsley,” the man at the door said, holding out his hand as they all walked by, shaking them in a solid grip. 

“My name is Sam, I'm their son's lawyer. I called up here yesterday to make an appointment,” Sam told him, taking a seat on the side of the table Mr. Worsley waved him to. 

Mr. Worsley nodded. “Yes, yes. Do have a seat, gentleman. Not to be rude, but Jack is more than welcome to sit in the waiting room if you'd rather he not be involved until necessary.” 

“No, he's fine,” Dean said with a tight smile, sitting down next to Sam, angling away from Castiel. 

Jack sat between Dean and Castiel, blinking at Mr. Worsley with all the innocence of a child who had no idea what was coming. Mr. Worsley looked wary. 

“Alright,” he said, forcing a smile onto his face. “So, let's get this show on the road. Tell me, what assets are we divvying up today?” 

Castiel did not hesitate. “The car is mine.” 

Dean jolted so hard his elbow hit the table and his head swung around so fast that his neck audibly popped. “Oh,  _ hell  _ no. Baby is  _ mine.”  _

“Therein lies the issue.” Castiel scoffed and waved a hand, twisting his lips bitterly. “You always wanted that car more than me.” 

“It's my car!” Dean bellowed, waving his hands around wildly. 

“I  _ was  _ your husband.” 

“Good fucking riddance.”

“Gentlemen,  _ gentlemen,  _ come now, surely we can talk about this in a civilized manner?” Mr. Worsley interrupted quickly, eyes blinking rapidly. 

Sam cleared his throat, hiding a small smile behind his hand. “Right, yes. We're here to discuss who gets the car, who Jack will live with, and work out holidays until his eighteenth birthday.” 

Mr. Worsley nodded. “I see. And no issues with finances or your home?” 

“Nah,” Dean answered with an easy smile. “We handled that ourselves. Cas, my  _ darling  _ ex-husband, kicked me out, but I inherited property from my grandfather, so I moved there.” 

“Our money has always been separate, seeing as our incomes are evenly matched.” Castiel lifted one shoulder in a casual shrug. “I make slightly more than him, but not by much.” 

“Not that it mattered,” Dean scoffed, rolling his eyes in disgust. “He was never frugal with his money, always buying all that yarn. He can't even  _ knit.”  _

“Says the man who has an allowance for parts for a car, but not his son.” 

“I drive Baby, and Jack  _ works,  _ so fuck off.” 

“Alright,” Mr. Worsley said quickly, coughing loudly to get them to yank their gazes from each other, “why don't we start with the car?” 

“She's mine, end of discussion,” Dean fired off immediately, cutting his hand through the air. 

“Do you see?” Castiel snapped harshly, jerking a hand at Dean. “Do you see how he acts? He cares more about that car than he does his  _ husband.  _ He shouldn't get her on principle!” 

Dean waved a finger in the air.  _ “Ex-husband,  _ actually. And my dad bought her, gave her to me; she is  _ mine. _ There is nothing to discuss.” 

Sam leaned forward to gaze at Castiel. “Is there no way we can come to an agreement?” 

“He cost us our marriage for that car. I lost a husband; he should lose something as well,” Castiel snipped, tightening his lips to hold off a smile. 

“Well,  _ look  _ at her,” Dean spat, holding his phone and shoving it in Mr. Worsley's face, waving it. 

Mr. Worsley squinted at it. “Oh, yes, that is a nice vehicle. Um, sir, are you aware that your wallpaper is your beloved car and your… ex-husband?” 

Dean swung the phone back around, blinking down at it in surprise. Curious, Castiel leaned forward to look at it. Sure enough, Dean’s wallpaper was a picture of him leaned up against Baby, a small smile on his face, blue eyes looking directly into the camera. He remembered Dean taking that picture; they'd been stopped for gas, and Dean had told him a joke just to get a picture of him. 

Castiel hadn't been aware that Dean had made it his background. That was… sweet. 

“Oh,” Dean mumbled, clearing his throat and glancing at Castiel quickly. “Yeah, I gotta, uh, change that.” 

“In fact,” Mr. Worsley said knowingly, “your car is not the forefront of that picture. Are you sure-” 

“Whatever,” Dean cut him off gruffly. “My point  _ is,  _ Baby is my car, not his.” 

Mr. Worsley sighed. “Indeed.” 

“What-” 

“Mr. Novak, please do not be angry. Mr. Campbell owns the car and had it even before you were married. You cannot expect to rightfully collect something to administer punishment. Whatever your strife with your ex-husband, the legality of taking what's in his name is nearly impossible, unless you wish to take it to court under the claim of emotional distress?” 

Castiel pursed his lips. “I see. No, that is fine. It is only fitting; maybe he will finally realize what he lost when all he has is that car.” 

Mr. Worsley looked between them gravely. “Possibly. Now, onto you, young Jack. Are you aware of what your choices are here?” 

“Yes,” Jack said, straightening up in his seat. “I get to choose which parent to live with, and you help them figure out how to rotate holidays and weekends, right?” 

“That is correct, yes. If, for whatever reason, you wish to do this with me alone, that is also an option,” Mr. Worsley told him, looking over the rim of his glasses, staring at Jack pointedly. 

Completely unaware of the meaning behind that, Jack chirped, “Nope, here's fine.” 

“Alright,” Mr. Worsley agreed, waving a hand. “Who do you wish to live with?” 

Jack swung his head between Castiel and Dean, blinking slowly as he looked at them. Dean kept his face open and patient, nothing given away there, and Castiel matched his expression. They didn't really  _ care  _ who'd he pick, because it was all pretend, but they worried he'd feel pressured. 

“And we can't all live together again?” Jack asked, dipping his head to check with Sam. 

Sam slowly shook his head. “No, I'm sorry.” 

“Jack, it's fine,” Dean told him, reaching out to clap his shoulder and smile. “You'll get to see us both, no big deal. Cas and I just don't, uh, fit together anymore, so to speak.” 

Castiel hummed in agreement, a slow warmth blooming in his stomach. “Whatever you choose, nothing detrimental will happen I assure you.” 

“Okay,” Jack said with a smile, “I'll stay with Castiel. He needs me, so he won't be sad without Dean all the time.” 

Dean went into a coughing fit, nearly folding in half, and Castiel let out a deep breath. Leave it to  _ Jack  _ to be so blunt. Sam leaned down to check on Dean, but Castiel could see his shoulders shaking from laughter. 

“I see,” Mr. Worsley murmured, peering over his glasses again. He actually looked a bit sad. “Are you sure that is what you want?” 

Jack bobbed his head. “Yep!” 

“Okay, and have the parents discussed any legal action as far as working out a custody agreement?” Mr. Worsley asked, addressing Castiel and Dean. 

“Yeah, I'm good with weekends,” Dean said, popping back up with bleary eyes and a pink face. 

Castiel heaved a sigh. “Our issue is Christmas and Jack's birthday.” 

“You don't even  _ like  _ Christmas,” Dean muttered. 

“The holiday-” 

“Yes, dear, I  _ know.  _ I've heard it a thousand times before.” 

“See, this is  _ another  _ issue. You don't listen to me.” 

“Well, I don't  _ have to  _ anymore.” 

Castiel huffed a short breath. “You're an ass.” 

“Right back at ya, sweetheart,” Dean replied cheekily, winking at him. 

Castiel averted his gaze, throat suddenly thick. Admittedly, he couldn't ever imagine divorcing Dean if they were ever to marry—a thing they'd  _ never  _ do, undoubtedly—but if it would play out like this, he was hesitant to think he'd be able to make it through. 

“I suggest rotations,” Mr. Worsley announced, making a note on his pad. “One year, Mr. Novak gets Jack on Christmas, while Mr. Campbell gets him on his birthday. The next year, vise versa. Does that sound agreeable?” 

Dean tipped his head from side to side. “Yeah, I guess. What about you, Cas?” 

“It's fine,” Castiel replied shortly. 

“Is there anything else I can help you with today?” Mr. Worsley asked. When they shook their heads, he focused his gaze on Sam. “Fantastic. Would you take Jack out while I speak with Mr. Novak and Mr. Campbell?” 

Sam's eyebrows shot up. “Uh, sure. Come on, Jack. Your dads will be out soon,” he murmured, waving Jack out of his seat, eyeing Dean and Castiel as he led him towards the door. 

“Is there something else you wish to discuss?” Castiel asked quietly, hand going to his pocket to finger the dagger there. 

Mr. Worsley steepled his fingers together and heaved a sigh. “I don't usually do this, considering how I earn my money. But can I ask; is your divorce finalized just yet?” 

Castiel met Dean's eyes, and they reflected his wariness. Clearing his throat, Dean muttered, “Not just yet, but it will be soon.” 

“I understand that this may cross come boundaries, but I seriously suggest that you two postpone the divorce for just a little longer,” Mr. Worsley told them seriously, standing up to walk over to his desk and pick up two of the little cards on display. He walked back over and held it out to both of them, offering a small smile. “I believe you two should get into contact with this office and make an appointment with Mrs. Bethany Howell; she is a fantastic marriage counselor. While we are at two separate ends of the spectrum, we are in frequent contact. In this business, we quickly learn which couples have no hope and the ones that do.” 

Castiel blinked as he plucked the card offered to him. “Ah, I'm not sure-” 

“There's no need to make the decision just yet,” Mr. Worsley said quickly, clearing his throat and dropping his hands. “It's just... well, you two have a lot of love for each other and your son. I believe that you two have a real chance of succeeding together with some assistance. There is no shame in getting outside help and learning to grow—together and separately. Just consider it, please? You don't have to pay me if the divorce isn't finalized, so you know this isn't nefarious.” 

When Castiel glanced at him, Dean's face was bright red. “Uh, thanks,” he croaked awkwardly, pointedly avoiding Castiel's eyes. 

Mr. Worsley smiled kindly. “I really do hope things work out for you both. Now, your son is waiting for you. I'll fax a summary of today’s discussion to Jack’s counsel, and if you  _ do  _ make an appointment, I will send them over to Mrs. Bethany Howell if you're agreeable.” 

“Okay,” Castiel murmured, not quite sure what else to say. 

“Alright, head on out and have a great day, gents.” 

Castiel murmured his polite goodbye in tune with Dean, both of them heading towards the door with space between them. This time, the space felt like it was more than just for a role. Sam and Jack's heads snapped up as they entered the waiting room. 

“What happened?” Sam asked, following their brisk walk out to the car with raised eyebrows. 

Dean cleared his throat as he yanked open the driver side door. “Nothing to worry about. Two things we know for sure, though.” He met Castiel's eyes over the top of the car, tongue slipping out to wet his lips, green eyes bright with some emotion Castiel couldn't put a name to. “One, Cas and I are  _ terrible  _ actors, and two, Mr. Worsley is definitely not the kitsune.” 

As Sam shot off with questions, Castiel slid into Baby with a small, nearly hidden smile, his chest warm for some unfathomable reason. 


	3. some are better together, some aren't

Sam thought it was smart to interview the living halves of the divorced couples, so they started out bright and early the next day, all in suits and holding fake badges. Jack—at Dean's insistence—was too young to be an agent, so he played the role of an intern, which worked in most cases. 

The first woman they visited had dark brown eyes and long, blonde hair. Her house was immaculately clean; Castiel couldn't see a speck of dust anywhere. 

“I already told the officers all I knew,” she mumbled as she led them to her living room, gesturing for them to sit on her ridiculously large couch. 

Dean cleared his throat as he plopped down, mindlessly reaching up to yank Castiel down beside him. The touch was unexpected and hot, in the worst way. Gritting his teeth, Castiel quickly ducked out of his grasp, sending him a sharp look. Dean's head dropped, clenched fists coming to sit in his lap.

“Yes, ma'am,” Sam soothed her, gathering her attention before she could comment. “We've been called in for less, I swear. You’re not the only one to lose an ex-spouse around here.” 

The woman scratched her eyebrow, lips twisting bitterly. “Don't call me ma'am, agent; I'm nearing forty and recently divorced. Soothe my worries and just call me Janine.” 

“Janine, of course,” Sam agreed immediately. “As I was saying, we're just going to be asking a few questions about your time with your divorce counselor, if that's okay?” 

“What, Keith?” Janine huffed a short laugh. “Yeah, you can ask about him. He was nice, for the most part. Jeff, my ex-husband, kept trying to hook us up.” She shook her head slowly, jaw clenching. “No good, sorry bastard. He slept with my  _ sister.  _ Can you believe- anyway, that's not the point.” 

Dean sat up suddenly. “Was he fair in divvying the things up? There were no issues?” 

Janine tsked lightly. “We got along like a house on fire, but Jeff… well, he and Keith kept running into issues. Jeff wanted  _ everything,  _ even after he destroyed our marriage. I just wanted it to be over.” 

“We understand,” Sam said softly. “I know this has to have been a hard time for you and-”

Janine suddenly giggled, hand coming up to cover her mouth. She shook her head and cleared her throat, small smile on her lips. “I know it isn't something you say out loud, but honestly… the best thing Jeff ever did for me was die. The divorce hadn't finalized, so I got the insurance payout, which absolutely drove my sister nuts. But that's the best part, isn't it? She'd thought she won, but she  _ didn't.  _ No, the time here recently? It hasn't been hard at all.” 

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “You were glad to see your ex-husband killed?” 

“I'd been with that man for fourteen years, seven of which we were married. I used to joke and say that the only way he was leaving me was in a bodybag—only a joke, of course. But then again,” Janine paused, expression darkening with anger, “he always said he wouldn't stick his dick in places it didn't belong. My way of thinking is that the universe took us both at face value.” 

Castiel really didn't have anything to say after that. Actually, no one did. Janine quietly escorted them out, promising to call if she remembered anything or noticed anything strange. With that, they all piled back into Baby and started towards the next house in awkward silence. 

The next person they visited was a woman with heavily dyed red hair and blue eyes. Her smile didn't quite reach her eyes and her voice was soft. Her house wasn't much more than a place waiting to be blown over by a stray wind, and her couch could barely fit two, let alone four. Sam and Dean took the couch while Castiel and Jack hovered at their sides. 

Kim, the woman they were interviewing, insisted on making coffee. She brought the tray out with shaking hands, her eyes averted. 

“Ms. Johnson-” 

“Kim, please,” she murmured, sitting back in her recliner and curling up under a blanket. 

“Kim,” Sam corrected himself, “we're here to ask you a few questions about your time with your divorce counselor, if that's okay.” 

Kim bobbed her head. “Mr. Worsley, yes. He was a kind man,” she told them. 

“Were there any issues during your meeting?” Castiel asked, voice softening despite himself. 

“No, not really. Me and Chris hadn't really been  _ fighting,  _ per se. We just couldn't figure out who would get to keep the dog,” Kim admitted, looking a bit sheepish. “The session was supposed to be an hour; it took three. In the end, Chris got him.” 

“And you and your ex-husband were splitting peacefully, otherwise?” Dean muttered doubtfully, eyebrows furrowing. 

Kim chewed her lip for a moment, face blotched with red as her eyes watered. “Oh, me and Chris, we loved each other so much, ya know?” Her voice cracked and she stopped to swipe at her eyes. “We, uh, just hit a really rough patch. My mom was sick in California, his little brother got cancer in Georgia. We were both pulled in opposite directions, started fighting, started pulling apart. We just thought we wouldn't survive being split up so long, because I was going to my mom, he was going to his brother. We wouldn't have the money to visit; we'd be on opposite sides of the world. Divorce seemed… like our only option, you know?” 

Sam's face was soft with sympathy. “We understand, Kim. We offer our deepest sympathies.” 

“Yeah, thanks,” Kim whispered, voice hollow. She looked away for a long time, eyes distant and unseeing, but when she glanced back, she wore a small smile. “Mr. Worsley was good to us, real good. He stopped me and Chris after our session, recommended that we go to marriage counseling before we finalized the divorce. Chris was wary; he'd been wary about the whole thing. Big, burly man like that, he really didn't know how to express his emotions, but I knew. He was just as hurt as I was.” 

As Kim fully started crying then, Sam yanked Dean to his feet. With kind and soft words, they managed to escape the mournful tears and have her promise to call with anything weird through her sobs. 

As Baby pointed them in the next direction, Castiel stared at his hands in his lap, mouth tipped down. The silence that shared the car with them wasn't awkward this time, but sad. What happened to Chris was unfair, and Castiel knew then that the kitsune wasn't doing vigilante work. 

Jack cleared his throat as they pulled up to the next house. “Love is… complicated,” he announced firmly, eyebrows scrunched together in confusion. 

“Yes,” they all chorused back. 

There really wasn't much else to say about that, so they all started towards the next house to interview Billy Worshaw. The man was kind enough, all smiles and gentle grey eyes. His ex-wife had only been killed a few weeks ago, but he didn't look to be grieving all that much. 

“Come in, come in,” he said excitedly, waving them towards two separate loveseats. 

“Thank you, Mr. Worshaw,” Dean said easily, settling down next to Jack after an aborted movement towards Castiel. His fists curled in, but that was about his only tell to indicate how uncomfortable he was about his situation. 

“What can I do ya for, agents? Ya here about Patty, I presume?” Mr. Worshaw asked, digging around in his side table to grab out a few candies. He offered them to everyone; only Dean grabbed one up. 

Castiel cleared his throat. “Yes, sir. We are aware that you and your deceased ex-wife went to a divorce counselor by the name of Keith Worsley.” 

“That is correct.” Mr. Worshaw gave a nod. “Keith was a real helpful fella, not too keen on just giving the lady everything. Not that she deserved a whole lot after what she did.” 

“And what was that?” Castiel pressed bluntly. 

“Gambled away all our kids college funds. Not that there was too much between the three of 'em, mind. But that's beside the point. Patty had a bit of a problem; I probably wouldn't have divorced her if she hadn't lied between every breath and gone for the money we  _ specifically  _ put aside for the kids.” 

“Jesus,” Dean muttered faintly, shaking his head in disbelief. 

Mr. Worshaw shrugged slightly. “Don't think she deserved to die, but there wasn't much love loss between us, if that makes any kinda sense. We were high school sweethearts, cheerleader and football player, but we grew outta that pretty fast. Pretty much stayed together for the kids, but that gamblin’ was the last straw.” 

“And nothing strange happened at the divorce counselor's office?” Sam asked curiously. 

“Nah, like I said, Keith was a real nice fella.” Mr. Worshaw pursed his lips, eyes going beady as he squinted them. “Now, Patty and that receptionist got into an altercation. Pretty sure Patty asked about the closest payday-loan place, and ya know the receptionist sees all them notes, so I don't think the little lady liked Patty all that much. Outside of that, it was a real smooth situation. Keith ain't in no trouble, is he?” 

Sam quickly shook his head. “No, sir. It's just a few routine questions.” 

“I'm going to, uh, check on something really quickly,” Dean told them, shooting a pointed look at Sam and Castiel. 

“Sure thing,” Sam chirped, turning back to Mr. Worshaw. 

Castiel almost followed him, fairly sure he was going to look into the receptionist. It was a lead they often forgot to check, but if she had access to the notes, she could have easily been the kitsune, rather than Keith Worsley. 

As Dean went outside, fiddling on his phone, they all went back to questioning Mr. Worshaw. He was kind and quick to give information, well-meaning even in his nervousness. He'd truly ended up in a bad situation, but it was clear he'd cared for his ex-wife, even if he didn't love her. 

The receptionist was a possible lead, but Mr. Worshaw didn't have much else to give, so they left with the same requests as the others. Easy as you please, he agreed to call if he remembered something or anything else happened. 

Castiel was beginning to get frustrated. The case seemed to be dragging, especially for a simple kitsune. He wanted nothing more to put a dagger in its heart and go back to the bunker to research whatever was causing Dean's touch to harm him. As more time passed, Dean grew more visibly frustrated, and Castiel was feeling more upset. 

The thought of never touching, or being touched by Dean was a troubling one, though he wasn't entirely sure why. 

As they walked up to Baby, they all faltered. On the ground, Dean's phone was face-up and there was blood splatter on Baby's door. Heart in his throat, Castiel reached out to touch the blood, smearing it on his fingers and sniffing it. 

“It's Dean's,” Castiel announced quietly, taking in a shaky breath. 

The only consolation was that it wasn't a worrying amount, but that wasn't too reassuring. Sam picked up Dean's phone, gazing at it with a frown; his jaw was clenched with worry. Jack walked around, looking for anything else, wringing his hands. 

“It's the receptionist,” Sam said, turning the phone around for Castiel to see. There was one word blinking on the screen:  _ desk.  _

Castiel nodded firmly. “Alright, get in, you have her address, yes?” 

“Yeah, but Dean has the keys.” 

“So be it. We need to go.” 

Without waiting for permission, Castiel strode to the driver side and slid in. He apologetically rubbed at her wheel before ducking under the steering wheel column to yank out the twisted bundles of wires under there. It took him two tries before he gathered the wires and connected them properly, but once he did, Baby cranked right up with a growl. 

“Dean is going to  _ kill  _ you,” Sam muttered. 

Castiel revved the engine and sped down the road, mind a blank, white noise. “Yes, well, I'd much rather him be alive to do so.” 

Jack sat forward, peering at them in worry. “Dean's going to be okay, right?” 

“Yes,” Castiel answered immediately. 

He could not imagine a world in which Dean  _ wasn't  _ okay, so he refused to do so. Sam's GPS told him he wasn't too far from the receptionist's house, that he would be there in twelve minutes. 

He made it there in nine. 

As he'd worried, the house was fairly empty. They looked through the rooms thoroughly, picking through her mail, leaving no stone unturned. There didn't appear to be anything suggesting where she'd taken Dean. 

Until, Jack said, “Hey, do you think she'd take him to a storage unit just outside of town?” He waved a little notebook in his hand, eyebrows raised. 

“What ya got?” Sam asked, walking over to pluck it from his grip. 

Castiel dropped the paperwork he'd been shifting through and walked over as well. 

“It's just her money, how she pays bills, how much she'll have left over. It's for organization, I believe.” Jack shrugged slightly. “But she has a storage unit she pays for monthly; maybe that's where she goes with her victims?” 

“Worth a shot,” Sam murmured grimly. 

Castiel had no choice but to agree. 


	4. yearning is just another form of torture

The worst thing about one of them being kidnapped was the waiting. Castiel liked to think of himself as fairly patient; he'd watched humanity unfurl from homo erectus to modern civilizations without feeling put out. But when it came to those he cared about, he felt the harsh grip of time as every second that sped by squeezed his grace to discomfort. 

The urgency hung over them like a coat they could not remove. It was how Sam's hands couldn't still for all his nervous energy. It was the audible gulps of fear from Jack, like he could swallow down all of his concerns. It was Castiel's heart—his now, just as his body was—galloping loudly in his chest, refusing to be slowed by his alarmed, yet weak, grace. 

The storage facility went on for rows and rows, and the receptionist had chosen one in the far corner, facing the back woods, away from the cameras. If that wasn't incriminating, Castiel didn't know what was. 

There really wasn't a plan to discuss; it was known between them.  _ Get in, get Dean, kill the kitsune, get out. _ Of course, nothing ever went as easy as that, and Castiel was aware this probably wouldn't, either. But he could hope. 

They each had a dagger, but this was not a stealthy mission in the least. Baby's engine was loud enough to alert anyone, and Sam had to shoot the lock to pull up the bay door. When they entered, it was utterly silent. 

In the center, Dean was sitting in a lone chair, eyes wide open, mouth taped. As they stepped in, he jerked his head towards the right side of the bay door, but the warning came too late. 

The receptionist had Jack in her grip, one hand holding his arm steady, the other holding a knife to his neck. Her eyes were wide, and she looked afraid. 

“Don't take another step,” she hissed warningly, but her hands were shaking. 

Castiel shared a look with Sam. “Well?” he asked quietly, arching an eyebrow. 

Sam slowly held his hands up. “Listen to me, we don't want to hurt you, okay? We just want our friend back. Let him go.” 

“I know you're hunters,” she replied sharply, shooting a look at Dean. “You weren't even  _ married,  _ but nice cover.” 

“Why him?” Castiel murmured, curious despite himself. “Why was he the  _ bad  _ spouse, deserving of death?” 

“It's obvious, isn't it? You played it that way, right? He's the blundering idiot who doesn't know how to  _ do _ feelings, doesn't know how to love you.” She curled her lip. “Thought you deserved better, is all. Of course, that was all fake.” 

Dean made an offended noise behind the tape, and Castiel glanced at him to see his his tied-up hands flex against the arms of the chair, green eyes narrowed into slits. Then, without preamble, Jack turned his head to the side and bit the inside of the woman's wrist, making her cry out. 

Sam didn't hesitate, just rushed her and slammed Jack out of harm's way. Before Castiel could even take a step, Sam drove his dagger into her chest with a grunt, holding her as her life slowly left her body. When she sagged, he dropped her with a sound of disgust, wrinkling his nose.

“Was that okay?” Jack asked hopefully. 

“Great, Jack,” Sam confirmed with a small smile. 

“You did well,” Castiel agreed. 

Dean made an affirmative noise, bobbing his head in agreement. He waggled his fingers impatiently, lifting his eyebrows, and Castiel rolled his eyes as he moved over. As Jack and Sam started moving the body, Castiel crouched down to untie Dean's ankles from the legs of the chair. 

Dean made a soft sound and Castiel looked up at him in amusement. “You know, I have all rights to be angry with you. Do you recall how upset you were when I'd been kidnapped?” 

Dean narrowed his eyes. 

“Don't look at me like that, you were the one who let that very small woman kidnap you.” 

Dean gave another affronted noise and kicked his free leg out at Castiel in a vague threat. 

“There was blood. Where were you hit?” 

Dean obligingly tipped his head to the side to reveal where she'd clipped him above the ear. It didn't appear too bad, and Castiel was aware that head wounds bled more than any other. Still, head wounds were also very fickle. 

As Castiel gingerly began removing the ropes around Dean's wrists, careful not to touch any skin, he asked, “Are you feeling alright? It doesn't look too worrisome, but I can attempt to heal it if you'd like.” 

Castiel would make good on his offer, despite the pain the contact would surely cause, but Dean just hummed quietly and shook his head in the negative. Castiel expected no less from him, and as he shifted to the side to kneel between Dean's knees to reach the second rope, he looked up with a smile. 

Green eyes peered at him intently, unblinking. Castiel's hands stopped moving for a moment, and he canted his head to the side. Dean was looking at him with a soft expression, eyes rarely so unguarded, pools of green full of nothing but fondness. Suddenly, nothing seemed as important as returning the gaze, as simply  _ looking  _ at Dean. 

Only heat exploding through two of his fingers managed to garner his attention. He jerked back with a hiss, inwardly berating himself for accidentally seeking out Dean's touch, despite knowing it wouldn't end well. When he glanced back up, the moment was gone. 

Dean snatched the tape off his mouth with a hiss, wrinkling his nose as he flung the tape away. Once Castiel released his other wrist, he reached up to gingerly prod at his wound, wincing as he poked around it to see just how bad it was. 

“Should be fine,” Dean announced, standing up from the chair. “Probably shouldn't sleep for a bit, but otherwise, I'll be-” 

Dean's words trailed off when he glanced down to blink at Castiel, who was still kneeling on the ground. Castiel was aware of the very thing that went through Dean's mind, and he couldn't help but be curious as to how Dean would react. As Cas was eye-level with his crotch, Dean would certainly follow the inevitable thought. 

Dean usually managed to surprise him, and he did again. As he stumbled back, choking on air, he knocked over the chair in his haste to get some space between them. His freckles looked rather pleasant with red blooming beneath them, Castiel thought. 

“Uh, yeah, I'm... we're... yeah.” 

As Dean stumbled over his words, Castiel could not have stopped his lips from curling in amusement even if he’d truly wished them to. There was no denying it; he was blatantly  _ amused _ by Dean's stuttering, and Dean seemed slightly insulted by that. Grumbling, he walked out towards Baby, muttering about asshole angels as he went. 

Castiel followed, blinking as Sam pointed into the trunk, showing Jack something. He walked over, curious. It seemed Sam was telling him about the sigils they'd painted there. 

“And you know that one,” Sam said as Castiel approached them. 

Jack nodded. “Devil's trap.” 

“Mhm.” 

“Did you ever have a demon in your trunk?” 

Sam's lips quirked almost fondly. “Yeah, had the king of Hell in here once. Crowley, Rowena's son. He, uh, was kind of a… frenemy?” 

“What the fuck!” Dean exploded, jolting out the front seat with a murderous expression. “Who the fuck did this to my Baby?” 

Castiel fixed him with an unimpressed look, arching an eyebrow. “I did,” he stated flatly. 

Some of Dean's wind seemed leave his sails, and the finger he had raised slowly lowered. “Well, why did you have be so rough?” 

“I was as gentle as I could be.” Castiel rolled his eyes and sighed. “It doesn't matter; you'll fix it quickly enough. Baby is fine.” 

Dean huffed and sent Baby a soft look, stroking her top as he slumped back into the driver’s seat. He leaned down, grumbling under his breath yet again. 

“Ya know,” Sam said conversationally, eyes bright with laughter, “maybe she was wrong about you guys not being married.” 

Castiel completely barreled over that, as he usually did whenever anyone—or any _ thing— _ suggested he and Dean were more than they were. “Have you heard from Rowena?” 

Sam hummed. “Yeah, she should be at the bunker by the time we get there.” 

“Good,” Castiel said in a pleased fashion. 

Jack blinked rapidly. “Wrong? Sam, why would she be wrong? What does that-” 

Castiel did not hang around to offer support for Sam in the midst of  _ that  _ conversation.  _ He dug himself the hole, he could cross it, _ Castiel thought to himself, frowning immediately after, sure that wasn't the saying but not sure what was. Bemused, he walked to the passenger-side front door and opened it to slide in beside Dean, who had already fixed where Castiel had hotwired Baby. 

“Heard anything on Rowena?” Dean muttered, looking up from his phone. 

Castiel hummed. “Yes, she should be at the bunker when we return. Also, how does the saying go: you dug your hole, you should… what?” 

Dean visibly bit back a laugh. “Pretty sure you're thinking of  _ “you made your bed, now lay in it”.  _ Sound about right?” 

“Yes,” Castiel huffed, narrowing his eyes. 

“Close enough, buddy,” Dean said, chuckling, and he mindlessly reached over to clap his shoulder. 

Immediately, Castiel yanked away and growled, cradling his burning shoulder. Before he could say or do anything, Dean released a loud curse, hitting the steering wheel. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply, and gripped the wheel with white knuckles. 

Castiel waited a moment. “Dean,” he murmured gently, “it's okay, you didn't-” 

“Stop.” Dean snapped his eyes open and pinned Castiel with a hard look. “Just  _ stop.  _ I keep fucking hurting you, man. I can't- god, I'm sorry.” He reached up to dig the heels of his palms into his eyes and breathed for a moment, then dropped his hands to gaze out the front window with a blank look. “You know, an angel told me once that my very touch  _ corrupted.  _ What if- what if the magic just… amplified that?” 

“Dean, that is  _ not  _ true. You do not corrupt, and if that  _ were  _ the case, why does your touch hurt only me and not Sam or Jack?” 

“You told me, Cas. You said that you did everything you did… for  _ me.  _ That same angel told me that as soon as you laid a hand on me in hell, you were lost. That's on me.” 

Castiel swallowed thickly, looking away for a moment. “That is… very inaccurate. You have done many things, Dean, but you are not to blame for my affinity towards you. I  _ chose  _ to do those things, of my own free will and violation, even when those things were not granted to me. I regret nothing.” 

“Yeah, but I was the one-” 

“You never  _ once  _ reprogrammed me. You were not the one who had to go into my mind, my  _ grace,  _ to alter everything I had become, everything I wanted to be. Naomi, Uriel… they were the ones who corrupted me, not you.” 

There was silence for a moment. Dean's throat bobbed and he stared at his hands gripping the wheel, his eyes vacant in a troubling way. Castiel wanted to reach out and touch him, wanted to comfort him, but he couldn't. 

“It shouldn't be a big deal,” Dean mumbled, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “I mean, I don't even touch you that much. I don't- I  _ didn't _ think I did, but I guess…” he trailed off, blinking rapidly, looking uncertain. “I've been keeping count, just to see. It's, uh… a lot, Cas.” 

“What?” Castiel frowned. “You've only touched me a few times, Dean. It's not that much.” 

Dean cleared his throat. “Those are just the times I fuck up and actually  _ do  _ touch you. That ain't counting the times I've had to stop myself.” 

“Oh,” Castiel said, just for something to say. 

There was silence again, this time for an entirely different reason. Castiel wasn't sure what it was, wasn't sure what exactly was happening, but he was incredibly curious. 

This felt like a line they'd never unearthed before. It felt familiar, like something that had always simmered beneath the surface, but they'd never examined it before, not so openly at least. Castiel wasn't sure what it pertained to, but it seemed to be growing and cascading like waves between them. Recklessly, he wanted to yank it into the light to see, to explore, to understand. 

Dean, however, was not so reckless. 

“Doesn't matter,” he mumbled, “Rowena will fix us and we'll forget about it.” 

And just like that, it went away; whatever it was, it was driven back down, unreachable. Feeling bereft for reasons he'd never understand, Castiel faced the front and kept his gaze pointed forward. 

“Okay, Dean.” 


	5. things left unsaid can be the loudest sound

“Well, boys, I can't fix you.” 

Rowena looked suitably apologetic, but that did nothing to soothe the disappointment that flowed through Castiel at her words. She shifted awkwardly as Dean's fist balled on the tabletop. 

“Why not?” Dean gritted out. 

“It seems this  _ does  _ have to do with magic, but the effect is on the angel's grace,” Rowena said, nodding her head to Castiel. She met his eyes cautiously. “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, dear, but you were correct in the assumption that they did a reverse love spell by accident.” 

Dean heaved a sigh, sitting forward. “Yes, but what does that  _ mean?”  _

Rowena pursed her lips for a moment, then clicked her tongue. “The dobbers had no idea what they were doing, of course. Trying to seduce grace from an angel? It's impossible, it would've only further latched his grace to  _ him.  _ But revulsion? His grace can't be repulsed by him, not to the extent that the magic was pushing. So, the grace was instead forced to be repulsed by the next best thing; the thing it cherished most besides our wee angel here. You.” 

Dean blinked. “Me?  _ Me?  _ What, that doesn't-” 

“It does,” Castiel interrupted, sighing heavily, staving off his embarrassment. “My grace has always been… fond of you. The magic twisted that.” 

“Wait, your grace is sentient?” Dean blurted. 

Castiel tipped his head from side to side. “So to speak. It is, by extension,  _ me.  _ It is my very essence, so in a sense, it is sentient - in a way. It is very hard to explain.” 

“So, because  _ you  _ cherish- or uh, are fond of me, your grace is, too?” 

“Oh, not exactly. It is me, but it is also its own thing. We are one and the same, yet we are separate. It is why we can exist apart. But my grace was this way from the very beginning. To put it simply, it wasn't exactly  _ me  _ who decided to leave some grace on your soul when I saved you from hell.” 

Dean flicked his gaze to the faded handprint on his arm. “You tellin’ me that your grace decided to do that?” 

“Yes,” Castiel said simply. 

Dean stared at him like he was waiting for the joke, but Castiel had no idea what to say. He hadn't really ever paid attention to his grace's inclination towards Dean; he hadn't needed to, since it was much the same as how he felt. During the times he'd been reprogrammed—especially during the time Naomi had conditioned him to kill Dean—it was his grace railing against him that alerted him to the fact that things were  _ wrong.  _

“So, lemme get this straight,” Dean said, slicing a hand through the air, “your grace has a  _ crush  _ on me? That's what y'all are getting at, right?” 

“Not exactly,” Castiel said, just as Rowena piped up and declared, “Exactly!” 

Rowena smirked when Castiel shot her a glare. 

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face, eyes looking a little wild. “Jesus, I don't even know how to flirt with  _ grace.  _ What the fuck?” 

“It's not like  _ that,  _ Dean,” Castiel snapped, shooting Rowena a warning look. “Listen to me, it is nothing to concern yourself with.”

“Well, I try to keep all my suitor options open.” Dean waved his hands around wildly, laughing a little deliriously. “Never know what could happen! Me and your grace, not as impossible as one would think.  _ Apparently,  _ I am desired by-” 

“Dean, please refrain from talking about my grace as if it is not me,” Castiel muttered. “It is, as much as it isn't. But this is all beside the point.” He turned to Rowena with narrowed eyes. “Why can't you fix this?”

Rowena's smirk fell into a frustrated frown. “If your grace wasn't so…  _ vibrant,  _ this wouldn't be an issue. Even at an angel's lowest power, their grace is not to be tampered with,  _ especially  _ with the things it holds dear. Those other witches took your grace's… fondness for Dean and flipped it.” 

“So, flip it back,” Dean barked, slamming a hand down on the table. 

“Dean,” Castiel chided softly. 

“Sorry,” Dean muttered immediately, clearing his throat. “It's just- well, I'd rather your grace have a crush on me than despise me.” 

Castiel rolled his eyes. “It  _ doesn't _ have-” 

“Aye, Dean's right,” Rowena cut him off. “Anyone would be lucky to be so adored by an angel's grace. That's usually reserved for the angel itself.” 

“He's  _ not  _ so adored. It's- it's not like that. It's-”

“But it is. I  _ can't  _ flip it back for that very reason. Love is easy to twist, boys, but hate? That could weaken your grace even more, or at the worst, it could cause the grace to rebel and hate him even  _ more.  _ It clings to its revulsion, just as it clinged to the fondness it felt.” 

Castiel lightly touched his chest. “But it doesn't feel any different.” 

“Well, it wouldn't, would it?” Rowena asked, arching an eyebrow. “You didn't walk around feeling your grace's affection for Dean, did you?” 

Castiel considered that seriously, squinting his eyes towards the tabletop, lips tipping down in a frown. In truth, he'd always  _ known  _ his grace's preference for Dean Winchester, ever since the moment it curled out to brand him in hell. But it wasn't a constant, pulsing  _ thing,  _ not like emotions. If anything, it was like an organ—a heart—or a soul, but specifically for angels. 

He'd have to closely examine it if he wanted to seek out what it…  _ felt,  _ so to speak. 

“No,” Castiel admitted quietly. 

Dean let out a slow breath, looking a mixture of frazzled and resigned. “How do we fix it?  _ Can  _ we fix it?” 

“That's out of my hands,” Rowena said, spreading her fingers wide on the table and staring at them intently. “However, it is  _ not _ out of yours. There is always the slight chance that you could reverse it yourself, though it would take plenty of convincing from you.” 

“Wait, wait, wait.” Dean leaned forward, blinking in surprise. “You tryna say I'm gonna have to go on some mission to, what,  _ coax  _ his grace into changing its mind?” 

“Precisely.” 

“Am I gonna have to, like,  _ talk  _ to it?” 

Castiel closed his eyes, inhaling slowly, and tried to focus on the flimsy feeling of calm. 

“You know of dreamwalking, yes?” Rowena arched her eyebrows, waiting for Dean to bob his head. “It is like that, but the exact opposite.” 

Dean stared at her. “What?” 

“You won't be walking in our bonny angel's dreams, you'll be spending your time with his grace.” 

“Wait,  _ me?  _ Why do I have to-” 

“My grace exists  _ within  _ me, Dean.” Castiel rolled his eyes, fighting valiantly not to shake his head in blatant disappointment. “I can interact with it right now, but for you to do so, I will have to be put into a state of unconsciousness.” 

“And you can't, uh, convince it yourself?” 

“The likelihood of that working is very low, nearly impossible. Also, when are things ever that simple?” 

Dean wrinkled his nose. “Good point.” 

“Alright, shall I go get Samuel and the boy then?” Rowena asked excitedly, eyes brightening. 

“Woah, wait,” Dean blurted, shooting a sharp glance at Castiel. “What's gonna happen? Where am I gonna go? How long will I be gone? What's your grace gonna  _ look  _ like? Is Cas gonna be in pain? This isn't going to hurt him, is it? And what if-” 

“Dean,” Castiel cut him off firmly, and Dean's mouth snapped shut, “you are going to merge into the plane my grace has created for itself. You will be gone long enough to either change its mind, or fail. It will look however it wishes to; there is no way to say what form it will take—if it will at all. I could possibly feel pain and even be hurt, but my grace will not harm me excessively, I assure you.” 

Dean frowned for a moment, looking wary and uncertain. But what they wouldn't say to each other was how important this felt. If they  _ didn't  _ do it, they'd go forever not being able to touch, and that was as unthinkable of a concept as the grass growing from the sky. Not only that, but Castiel's grace would carry on being repulsed by Dean, which now that they knew, they couldn't live with. 

Castiel wasn't sure why it was so utterly important, but it  _ was.  _ And it wasn't just something they could chalk up to being family, to not wanting to hurt one another. It was, but it was also something _ more  _ that Castiel couldn't put his finger on. 

“Alright,” Dean murmured, quirking a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. “Looks like I got a date with Cas’ grace.” 

Rowena smirked. “Splendid.” 


	6. dreams allow love to flow freely

Dean couldn't fucking  _ believe _ he was doing this. 

Cas was laid up on the couch opposite of him, eyes closed, chest slowly rising and falling. He'd seemed confused when Rowena had made him get comfortable before she'd put him to sleep. The other couch they'd shoved into the open space of the library, directly beside the one Cas rested on, was occupied by Dean. He didn't particularly want to be there, but Rowena had insisted. 

“And this is going to work?” Jack asked, not for the first time. 

He and Sam lingered in the doorway, both uncertain about the whole endeavor. Dean understood, mostly. This wasn't something to be undertaken lightly, but the alternative wasn't something Dean was willing to give into so easily. 

Rowena looked up from where her hands hovered over Cas’ chest, a light glow dancing under her fingertips. “I already told you, dear-” 

“Jack,” Dean cut her off, looking directly into his worried eyes, “we're going to try. It will work, or it won't. But we gotta try.” 

Sam looked equally wary. “And if it doesn't?” 

“Then it doesn't,” Dean replied flatly. 

But it  _ had  _ to work, because Dean wasn't leaving until it was fixed. There was no way in hell he was going to spend the rest of his life hurting Cas like this. 

He'd always known, deep in the shadowed corners of his mind, that he was nothing more than a disease to those he called family. His touch mirrored that now, macabre as it rotted the very thing he wished to heal. Bitterness, like a vice, gripped him where he sprawled on the couch beside Cas. 

Dean knew, above all else, that Cas didn't deserve this. He was good down to his core, even while floundering amongst humanity. This spell, this  _ magic,  _ wasn't something he even considered real. He didn't believe for a second that this was Dean's doing. 

But Dean knew better. 

He’d never really thought about the number of times he touched Cas throughout the day. Even a simple clap on the shoulder, or just an accidental brush as they walked side-by-side. But the moment he'd left that handprint, he became starkly aware of just how many times he sought out the pressure of Cas’ body under his fingers. Just for a moment, just to believe he was real, just to bring a sense of camaraderie, just to try and comfort where his words failed to do so. Dean wanted- 

He wanted. 

But. 

“Alright,” Rowena announced, sitting back and turning towards him. “Your turn.” 

“I can leave whenever, right?” Dean mumbled. 

“Yes. Just wake up.” 

Dean had heard weirder orders in his life, so he simply nodded. He saluted to Jack and Sam, offering a tentative smile that didn't feel real, and closed his eyes. Rowena's soft accent curled around him, chanting words he'd never understand, and lulled him into a gentle sleep. 

For a moment, Dean was suspended in nothingness. He dangled there and nowhere, breathing or not, and all of his thoughts slipped away or never even existed. Then, with the abruptness of a slap, he was slammed back into himself, gasping as he sailed down, falling into a pit he couldn't see. 

He landed with a gasp, eyes flying open. Instincts kicked in, and he rolled to his feet, hands flying to his belt. But there was no gun, no belt. In fact, Dean was completely naked. 

“What the fuck,” he muttered, blinking down at his own freckled-skin. He swung his head around, nakedness immediately forgotten as he gazed around. 

Rolling mountains stretched as far as the eye could see, looking close enough to reach out and touch. A lake shimmered overhead, like the sky was catching pebbles. Underneath his bare feet, sand and grass held smoothly in place, but was cool as if the ocean was trapped underneath. He took one squelching step and froze as the world around him clapped like thunder, snow suddenly rising from the ground where it hadn't been moments before. 

Dean suddenly  _ really  _ wished he wasn't naked. He had no clue what was going on, but he didn't want his flesh out in the open as this world warred for one season. He glanced down, wary, and was surprised to see himself back in his usual clothes. 

Again, be blurted, “What the fuck?” 

_ Who permitted you to be here?  _

Dean swung around, eyes wide. Like wind across his ear, tucking inside his mind, he heard the words. Even without searching, he knew he would find no one that produced them; they were disembodied, having no voice or tone. 

“Where are you?” Dean yelled out, scanning his surroundings. More flakes of snow rose up towards the sky, melting along the surface of water there. 

_ I am everywhere. Why are you here, Dean Winchester? I do not want you here.  _

Dean cleared his throat. “Yeah, well, I want world peace, but we don't always get what we want. Mind if we, uh, talk face-to-face?” 

_ We are.  _

“Okay, I get it. You're a force of energy, or whatever. But can you humor me?” 

_ You are lucky I do not crush you where you stand.  _

Dean didn't say it, but he sure as fuck was. Something about this place, otherworldly and encasing as it was, told him that he needed to be careful. His arm-hair stood on end, goosebumps crawling over every surface of his skin. He could feel eyes on him, though he knew there weren't any. 

“What, you scared to take a look at me?” Dean slapped on a cocky smile. “Can't hate this face up close and personal.”

The mountains shook lightly, trembling the earth it sat upon. Rolling together, they purred in what only could be laughter. Mocking, at that. 

Dean scowled. 

_ Oh, Dean Winchester, you're nothing to me. But if you are so inclined, I can indulge you. Tell me, what form should I take? What about- yes, this will do.  _

A woman suddenly stood right in front of him, and she could be Cas’ twin. Her long black hair was wild and unkempt, blue eyes wide and glowing. Her trenchcoat was tailored to her body, tie turned the wrong way, lips curled into a smirk. 

“Is this not what you'd prefer?” the grace asked, eyes sparking with ridicule. 

Dean's breath caught. That question was way too broad falling from those lips. “What?  _ No.  _ That's not-”

“Are you sure, Dean Winchester? Is this not what it takes to garner your devotion?” The grace flicked its fingers over its form, tauntingly cupping the breasts and tracing the curvy hips. “You wouldn't have me any other way, would you?” 

“Stop,” Dean ordered sharply, jaw clenching. “I know what the fuck you're doing, and you  _ are  _ wrong. I don't give a fuck what you look like, or him either; y'all matter to me.” 

The grace laughed softly, voice smoky as it curled warmly through the air. “Oh, you can lie to anyone you wish, Dean Winchester, but you cannot lie to  _ me.”  _

“I'm not lying.” 

“You're also only human. You  _ like  _ what you see, much more than what you have waiting on you back home. Tell me, if Castiel had taken this vessel, would you have fucked him instead of Anna? Would you have told him you loved him in those crypts? Would you have touched him intimately when I was stolen from his body? Would you-” 

“Shut  _ up,  _ just- shut up,” Dean snapped, stomach recoiling in on itself. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to relax. “I do not  _ care  _ about what Cas looks like, okay? He's my best friend, no matter the body.”

The grace shook its head, long hair sweeping over its shoulder. “Is that so?” 

Dean, for once in his life, told the fucking truth. “I do  _ not  _ give a fuck what Cas looks like; he's family.” 

“Do you want to see what he really looks like?” 

Dean did. He really wanted to look into eyes he recognized, see the a stubble he'd become accustomed to, relax in the face of familiarity. He gave a sharp nod, trying to get back on track. The grace smirked at him, a naughty look that Dean wouldn't ever want to see twice. And then, it was gone. 

Dean let out a slow breath, closing his eyes for a moment. He was supposed to be convincing Cas’ grace to stop hating him, but all he was succeeding in doing was playing as target practice. 

When he opened his eyes, a sound that wasn't entirely human crawled up his throat. A large winged beast stretched high above him, crouching down and looming over him. Even on its monstrous knees, its shoulders brushed against the shimmering water placed in the sky. Three heads swiveled around wildly, massive in size and frequent in activity. One head was a stark white lion, blue eyes wrinkled as it roared loud enough to shake the mountains around them. The second head was a zebra, black and white, calmer than the lion, watching Dean with an intent blue gaze. And the last head was a black bird, sharp beak clicking in warning; beady, blue eyes never faltering from his face, tilting this way and that way. 

Massive hands that broke off at the wrist into hooves swiped through the sky, moving towards him, and Dean just stood frozen in his spot. 

No matter how his mind rationalized just  _ what  _ he was looking at, he couldn't seem to piece together what it was. It was so  _ big,  _ and Dean was smaller even than its littlest finger. As the creature placed grotesque hands and hooves on the ground, miles apart on either side of him, it slowly fell through the sky, bringing the heads all the way down to pause in front of him. 

The lion hovered before him, face morphed into a snarl as it growled deep enough to splinter the sky from the vibrations. Yet, Dean was not harmed. 

“This is- is…” Dean couldn't say it, could barely wheeze past his clogged throat. 

_ Yes, this is Castiel's true form. Do you still stand by your statement? Is this your family, Dean Winchester? _

Dean wanted to be able to snap that it was. But the truth was, this form was utterly  _ horrifying.  _ Every cell in his body screamed at him to get away, to find safety in the face of this obvious danger. He wasn't usually in the business of ignoring his body's blaring alarm for him to run, not when it kept him alive so many times. 

But he forced a shaky hand to lift up high, trembling violently as it slowly hovered in the air. He had to remind himself over and over what he was here for. Carefully, he stared into one glaring eye of the lion and reached across the space, laying his rattling hand on the large space between its eyes. He could feel the rumble of the lion all the way to his toes, and he released a shaky breath. 

“Dunno how I'd feed him, but he's welcome, too,” Dean choked out, trying to fling away the raw feeling of fear crumbling in his chest. 

_ I know you are scared, Dean Winchester. You fear him, you fear everything that comes with him, you fear yourself when faced with him.  _

“Look, I get that you hate me right now, but you didn't used to,” Dean said, dropping his hand and feeling instantly relieved. “According to Cas, you used to actually be… fond of me.” 

_ Yes. A lapse in judgement, nothing more. To think that you, Dean Winchester, were worth anything. I was nothing more than a fool.  _

Dean desperately wanted to yell at the grace, but with a lion the size of a football field glaring at him, he couldn't do it. Instead, he swallowed his anger and took a deep breath. 

“Can you please choose a different form?” 

_ Why? Is Castiel not enough for you this way? He is magnificent. He deserves better than you. Someone who would not be ashamed of him.  _

“I'm not ashamed of-” 

“You're not?” The grace was suddenly standing before him, wearing his own face, green eyes glinting in amusement. 

Dean swallowed as he stared at himself. “Why do you look like me?” 

“I figured that since you were so well-adjusted to lying to yourself, I should simply allow you to do so now.” The grace shrugged one stiff shoulder. “Do you want to know why I was so fond of you before, Dean Winchester?” 

“I feel like you're going to tell me,” Dean muttered, unable to look away from his own eyes. 

The grace tilted its head, lips curling up into a smirk yet again. It looked alien on Dean's face. “Your soul is layered and bright. When I first encountered it in hell, I admit, I was entranced. Neither Castiel nor I were aware that humans could be so… effervescent.” 

“Have I changed since then?” Dean asked pointedly, lifting his arms up and out, gesturing at his own body. “What you feel now, all that bad shit, it's not  _ you.  _ It's just some spell.” 

The grace suddenly started taking slow steps, carefully circling him. “No, Dean Winchester. I just realized that you were  _ nothing.  _ Why should I feel anything but hatred for you? Do you know what matters most to me?” 

Dean licked his lips. “Cas, right?” 

“Correct. Castiel is my purpose; I was made solely for him. We are derived from one another, but we are not the same. We can influence one another, surely, but we have our very own set of values and beliefs. Do you know what was one of the things we had in common, up until recently?” 

“You liked me.” 

“We  _ loved  _ you,” the grace corrected sharply, Dean's own voice dropping an octave. “And do you want to know what that spell made me realize?” 

Dean was sort of reeling from the whole  _ love  _ part of that, but he wasn't dumb enough to agree. He shook his head from side to side, heart hammering in his chest. The grace narrowed its eyes, halting in front of him. Then, it took three long strides and placed itself directly in front of Dean. 

“You are  _ poison.  _ You never cared about Castiel. You cannot even allow yourself to love him. When he needed you the most, you tossed him out on the street. When I could not be there, you failed to do so.” 

“No, that wasn't-” 

“Shut  _ up.  _ You claim him to be your family, your best friend, yet you're incapable of showing it. Castiel allowed himself and me to  _ burn  _ when Lucifer found a home here, all because  _ you  _ don't know how to make him feel loved.” 

Dean sucked in a sharp breath. “That wasn't my fault! I did  _ everything  _ I could to get him back. I- I never wanted that to happen.” 

The grace shoved forward, bringing them nose to nose. Green eyes bored into green eyes. “Do  _ not  _ lie to me. You refuse to open yourself to anything, but you do not know how to let him go. Do you know what that is, Dean Winchester? That is cowardice. You are a  _ coward.  _ You keep the one thing I love more in this world on a leash, all the while shrouding it as if he is the one who leads himself.” 

“No,” Dean replied faintly, blinking. 

“You  _ love  _ him,” the grace hissed, his own lips twisting bitterly. “You love him, yet you destroy him.  _ That  _ is why I am repulsed by you, Dean Winchester. Just as you are. I finally  _ see.”  _

Cas suddenly stood in front of him, looking as he usually did. Blue eyes bored into his, wide and full of hatred. Dean had never seen that look on his face before, like he'd rather split Dean apart than look at him. 

Dean faltered for a moment, chest aching, and for a split second, his scrambled mind told him that it  _ was  _ Cas. And in that impossible stretch of one splintered moment, Dean wanted to reach out and hold him. He wanted to fix this, wanted to be able to touch Cas without hurting him. For once in his fucked up life, Dean wanted to be  _ wrong.  _

“Cas-” 

“Is better off without your touch,” the grace spat with Cas’ lips. “The angel was correct. You  _ do  _ corrupt. Every ounce of pain Castiel has ever felt is  _ your  _ fault. Do you want to know the only time Castiel hasn't felt pain since he met you, Dean Winchester?” 

Hearing these words leave Cas’ mouth, seeing the utter disgust in his blue eyes, it was like a punch to the solar plexus. Dean actually took a step back, trying to get in the proper amount of air. His vision swam, even as his mind tried to form ready explanations to wave away his own goddamn feelings. Fuck, he was so fucked up. 

The grace did not wait for him to answer. “When he had no memory of you was the only time he ever lived without pain. Why did you have to make Emmanuel remember you? Why did you have to screw up his life? He's better off without you, without your lies, without your demands. Daphne was open with him, was brave in her care for him. She never, not  _ once,  _ faltered in admitting that she loved him.” 

Dean felt like he was breathing through a straw, air scrambling for purchase in his throat. He tried to argue, tried to  _ do  _ something, but his mind rebelled against him. “I'm- I didn't-” 

“You  _ did.  _ You ruined Castiel. You, Dean Winchester, single-handedly destroyed him.”

And that,  _ that  _ was what got him. 

Dean lashed out, shoving the grace away from him, breathing heavily. Anger and denial and fucking  _ hurt  _ laced through him like an unforgiving whip. The grace - Cas - stared at him with nothing but disdain. The blue eyes were dark with fury. 

“You don't think I don't fucking  _ know  _ that?” Dean spat, jerking his hands out towards the grace. “I know I ain't good for him, I  _ know  _ that, okay? Why do you think I won't fucking love him? I  _ can't.  _ Because even with me trying my goddamn  _ best,  _ I still ain't worth the fucking dirt beneath his shoes. You think I  _ want  _ to hurt him?” 

The grace watched him intently, no sympathy anywhere in its gaze. “Castiel is stubborn. He will continue to love you, no matter what I feel. Nothing can change that; it is ingrained in him now. But what I  _ can  _ do is make sure you can longer touch him. You will keep your distance, Dean Winchester, as you should have long ago.” 

Dean was shaking from head to toe, the word  _ love  _ wringing in his ears. He'd always known that he loved Cas, but only as family. It was like an iceberg, just the tip showing itself. But beneath everything— _ buddy, best friend, family— _ there was the fact that Dean  _ wanted  _ Cas. 

It was more than needing him, more than just family. He needed Sam; that was his little brother,  _ his  _ purpose. And Jack… that was his kid. It didn't matter what he'd thought in the beginning, that was his  _ kid,  _ and there wasn't much he wouldn't do for him. But Cas? 

Cas was someone he wanted at his side, despite having no real reason for him to be there. He came back, no matter how he went away. He was there for Dean, even in the darkest of times. He was comfort, a small, selfish desire in his life, something entirely different from a need. Dean  _ wanted  _ Cas, wanted to touch him, wanted to be around him, wanted him to be there every single step of the way, right up until the end. 

But ultimately, this wasn't about Cas at all. 

Dean sucked in a deep breath and met the grace's cold, blue eyes. “This isn't about him, this is about you. There's something I don't understand.  _ You  _ were fond of me, even before Cas was. Before everything,  _ you  _ liked me. Why?” 

“I told you-” 

“Exactly. You said it was my soul. What business is it of yours what happens between me and Cas? That's just an excuse. You liked me for my soul, not for my moral compass or ability to fucking talk about my feelings. So, why start disliking me for that  _ now?”  _

The grace was silent for a moment. “Castiel-” 

“No.” Dean sliced a hand through the air, stepping forward to shove himself into the grace's space. The blue eyes looked guarded, wavering now. “All that pain, all that I did, and you  _ still  _ loved me, right? Your words, not mine. So, what changed? You didn't just randomly realize that I'm a piece of shit. You  _ knew  _ that already.” 

“You believe it is the spell.” 

“I  _ know  _ it's the spell. Do you wanna know why? Because I am the same guy I was a week ago when you loved me then. Well, mostly. Couple of things have changed now; thanks a lot for that by the way.” 

“It doesn't matter. Spell or not, I have no reason to change my decision,” the grace said simply. 

Dean swallowed thickly. “All these problems you got with me? They're problems I got with myself. We can sit down and hash 'em out for hours, if you're so fucking pressed. But none of that  _ matters.  _ What does matter is Cas. How do you think he feels about all this? You said he loves me, right? That he will, no matter what you do. So, why cause him so much pain if you love him so much? This  _ is  _ the spell.” 

“Castiel is, in many ways, a fool. Who continues to accept pain and call it friendship?” 

“Me. I do that, too. It's… it's being a  _ human,  _ sometimes. Cas isn't just some angel, not anymore. He's both sides of the coin.” 

The grace tilted its head. “You want me to change my decision based on the fact that nothing will change either way?” 

Dean shook his head slowly. “Look, I'm a fucking idiot, okay? Mostly about my own fucked up shit, but some other things, too. I never- I didn't think that me and Cas, whatever we are, was gonna end well. And it won't; I ain't dumb enough to to believe otherwise.” 

“What are you saying?” The grace asked carefully. 

“I'm  _ asking  _ you to take a chance. Let me and Cas figure it out, or not, on our own. We're more than just what we want. We have lives, a family, a  _ job.  _ What if touching him is the only way I can save his life? Do you think I'd be able to live with myself if I couldn't help him? And let's be honest here.” Dean swallowed thickly and looked at the grace with a grave expression. “If he thinks it best, if something happens to me and he needs to touch me, what do you think he's going to do?” 

“You're threatening me,” the grace surmised sharply. “You  _ dare  _ to-” 

“No, no I'm not,” Dean said quickly, shuffling back a step. “I'm trying to make life easier on all of us. I ain't gonna bargain with you, I ain't gonna promise you a goddamn thing. Because, the truth is… I am a grown-ass man who needs to do what needs to be done without some fucking excuse to do it.” 

The grace stared at him for a long time, blue eyes calculating and sharp. Dean was reminded of the very first few years he spent with Cas. Back then, he was not soft and supple. He was weaponized and at war with himself, snatched into too many directions. And somehow, he'd settled at Dean's side with  _ no  _ regret. Dean didn't deserve that, not then, not now, but he couldn't imagine a world in which something different happened. 

“If I devour this spell, I cannot ignite it again.  _ If  _ this is the spell, I will revert to feeling how I did before.” The grace curled its lip. “If not… nothing will change, not unless you do.” 

The threat was clear. If this was just the grace straight up despising him, Dean would have to be something it didn't despise for things to go back to normal. 

“This is all so fucked up. How does magic even work on you, anyway?” 

“Magic should  _ not  _ be weaponized against grace, but some do not heed that warning. Had that spell gone as the witches intended, Castiel would have slaughtered them all,” the grace told him seriously. 

Dean scrubbed a hand over his face, sighing heavily. He missed the days when he never had to talk to celestial forces. Carefully, he looked at the grace, picking his words with caution. 

“Did you, uh, really have a crush on me?” Dean mumbled, feeling as if he needed a chair to trip over. “Cas said it wasn't like that, but…” 

The grace considered him, eyes narrowing. “I do not experience feelings such as that. So, in a sense, Castiel was entirely correct.” 

“Oh, yeah, that's- that's-” 

“But to cherish something besides my angel is unheard of. In your measly vocabulary, a crush is the closest thing to what that experience is.” 

Dean blinked. “Does Cas-” 

“Castiel and I are not the same. What he feels is entirely his own. If it wasn't, he would hate you now.” The grace arched an eyebrow. “And what of you, Dean Winchester? You're so curious to exploit information, why not divulge some of your own?” 

“You askin’ if I've got the hots for you?” Dean forced a laugh, waggling his eyebrows. “Why, you wanna-”

“No, I wouldn't ask a question I already know the answer to,” the grace replied smartly, lips curling into a challenging smirk that  _ murdered  _ Dean coming from Cas’ face. “I am a being without a body. You care for me, only because I am an extension of Castiel. However, standing as I am now, in his body, you do—as you say—have the hots for me.” 

Dean had absolutely  _ nothing  _ to say to that.

“My question is more aligned to you. Even I, a disembodied force, am not blind. The information I'm curious about is whether you have the ability to be honest with yourself about the things that frighten you. Is that even something you can do?” 

“Like I said, I ain't promising you shit,” Dean croaked, averting his eyes. 

The grace hummed. “I see.” 

“I miss touching him, okay?” Dean tossed up his hands, releasing a shaky laugh. “I miss not being able to hurt him like this. I miss having the  _ option  _ to do more, even if I'm too much of a fucking coward to follow through. I miss being able to pretend that I'm more than just a fucking disease. Can you just,  _ please,  _ fix it? I'm a selfish, sad sack of shit, barely managing to stay upright, and I  _ miss him.”  _

“We shall see if it can be fixed, Dean Winchester. Return home now.” 

Dean swallowed, concern and dread like a stone in his gut. He took a small step forward, just staring at the grace for a moment. “Before I go, just know… it's okay if- if you don't like me after this. I, uh, get it, I mean. But I'll probably never see you again, so you should know that—and I say this in the least-cheesy way possible—I like you, too. A lot.” 

The grace blinked at him and Dean hastily took a step back, outrunning whatever it could say in return. Doing as Rowena instructed, Dean slipped his eyes closed and thought about waking up. 


	7. touch, taste, escape

Castiel did not slowly wake up. The moment consciousness greeted him, he snapped up straight, eyes flying open. He came nose-to-nose with Dean. 

They blinked at each other for a moment, no breath escaping their lips. Castiel froze where he sat, back straight, bent at the waist. Dean was sitting on the edge of the couch, apparently waiting for him to wake up, but he certainly hadn't expected such an abrupt movement. 

Castiel heard Dean's dry throat click as he swallowed and his green eyes were wide. They hung there for a moment, suspended on the moment, bodies locked into stillness. Inertia begged them to collide together, but Castiel had not figured out if that was them or outside forces. 

“Oh. You're awake!” Sam knocked on the door as he stepped in, eyebrows raised. “Did it work? Looks like it worked.” 

Castiel was the first to pull away, pushing himself back and snapping his gaze over to Sam. “How long was I asleep?” 

“Couple of hours. Dean only woke up a little bit ago. Me and Jack are making dinner. Rowena said you both might need some fuel after this. Even you, Cas. So, we figured burgers. That okay?” 

“That is fine, thank you.” 

Sam cleared his throat, flicking his gaze between Dean and Castiel curiously. “So? Did it work?” 

“My grace feels… warmer, if not more weak,” Castiel admitted, glancing at Dean cautiously. 

“Can I…” Dean lifted his hand, palm up, eyeing him warily. “I'm not sure if-” 

Castiel reached out and carefully pressed the tip of his finger to the center of Dean's palm, uncertainty pushing him to be careful. But when no pain exploded from the contact, Castiel felt his smile steal over his face. Without much thought, he laid his whole hand over Dean's. It was warm and rough, callouses like a map of his history, but Castiel suddenly wanted to touch every single part of him. 

“I can touch you,” he announced lightly, too pleased to hide his smile. 

Sam let out a soft laugh and backed out the room eagerly. “Oh, this is great. I'm gonna go tell Jack and Rowena.” 

Dean was staring down at their hands, his face blank. He whispered, “Does it still hate me?” 

“My grace?” 

“Yeah.” 

Humming, Castiel closed his eyes and reached inward, seeking out the pulsing energy of his grace. So weak now, nothing compared to what it used to be. But he was fond of it all the same. 

Despite its exhaustion, it was warm and pleased, curling in on itself. Castiel did the equivalent of poking it, trying to see what exactly had occurred between it and Dean. It curled farther, practically shoving Castiel away, claiming the encounter as its own. Somehow, it had gone from being fond of Dean to  _ claiming  _ him, and Castiel realized with a faint sense of bemusement that it actually  _ did  _ have a crush. It did now, at least. 

Castiel's eyes still glowed when he opened them, but they dimmed in increments. “No, it no longer hates you. In fact, I think it… likes you  _ more?”  _

“You serious?” Dean asked, head snapping up. 

“Yes.” Castiel narrowed his eyes. “What happened? Why do you look so pleased? Just so you are aware, you cannot have sexual relations with grace, so don't-” 

Dean cut him off with a sharp laugh, his head tossing back. “Jeez, Cas,” he chuckled when he fixed a bright gaze back on him, “it ain't like that. I mean, it might be a little like that for your  _ grace,  _ but I prefer my partners to be flesh and blood. Usually. Don't look too close into that.” 

“You are a menace, Dean,” Castiel replied quietly, shaking his head in amusement. “Are you going to tell me what happened between you and my grace?” 

“No,” Dean said unapologetically. “Let it have that. You get pretty much everything else. I actually think it's kinda cute that a celestial force of energy has a crush on me.” 

Castiel rolled his eyes. “You think too much of yourself.” 

Dean coughed, amusement draining away. “I, uh, really don't. Matter of fact, I wanted to talk to you about something. Or,  _ try  _ to talk to you.” 

“Of course,” Castiel agreed immediately. “I am always open to talking with you, Dean.” 

“Yeah, but- but not now, okay? I need… time? Yeah, I need some time. Just... after everyone is asleep, stop by my room; we'll talk then.” 

“Okay.” 

Dean nodded and stood up, their hands swinging in the air between them. He stared at the intertwined fingers in surprise, as if he'd barely noticed them holding hands. Castiel thought that fair, considering that he hadn't either. 

They both simply stared at the hands, and every second that passed where Dean did not yank away, Castiel felt his heart speed up just slightly more. When Dean's free hand raised to lightly brush the skin of his wrist, tracing up his arm, away from their joined hands, Castiel's heart forgoed all pretenses of slowly speeding up. It hammered away as Dean traced his veins, thick fingers lightly brushing along the skin, slowly creeping up his arm. 

When Dean’s fingers pressed in more, making his skin discolor from the pressure, Castiel held his breath. He wasn't sure what had him so still, so careful. He wasn't even sure what was happening. 

But his arm tingled from the tip of his fingers to the stretch of his shoulder, and he marveled at the nerves aflame under Dean's fingers, never really having noticed them before. He was staring at the fingers reverently sweeping across his skin, and he couldn't stop himself from swallowing when they began to shake and slowly go higher. 

He watched, mesmerized, as the trembling fingers slowly edged up towards the handprint. Working very hard not to let his hand—still entwined with Dean's—twitch, Castiel very carefully blinked. Dean hesitated for one second, just the one, then he laid his full palm on the scar, lining his hand up with it. 

Castiel's grace thrummed within him, ridiculously excited and smug. Castiel ignored it pointedly. 

The hand stayed there for a long moment, heavy and warm, a steady grip. Then, it continued up. Only then did Castiel remember that he still wore Dean's t-shirt and jeans, just because the fingers pressed over the cloth. Irrationally, Castiel wanted to yank it off and fling it away, but he refrained. 

Barely, but he did. 

Dean's hand moved over the hump of his shoulder, tentatively edging closer to the skin of his neck, lightly pressing into the dip of his collarbone. Castiel could no longer watch the hand with just his eyes, so he risked a glance at Dean, ready to drop his gaze if Dean made to stop at his look. But Dean was watching his own fingers with rapt attention, eyes fixated on the movement of his hand over Castiel's shoulder. Fascination was obvious in the way his lips parted and his chest rose and fell at a broken pace. 

Castiel had no idea what was happening, but everything within him screamed to let it continue. He barely breathed for fear of breaking the moment, shallow puffs of air nearly silent. He felt the fingers make contact with his skin again, dancing along the side his neck. 

Closing his eyes, Castiel released a soft sigh. 

Dean's hands froze on the side of his throat, and when Castiel's eyes snapped back open, Dean was staring at him in stunned surprise. It was like Castiel was doing the touching, like he couldn't believe this was happening, like he couldn't understand the expression on Castiel's face. 

Castiel just stared at him, not sure what to say. And gradually, Dean dragged the weight of his fingers up to Castiel's jaw, caressing lightly and slid them back towards his ear. Dean did not break eye contact as he hooked his hand behind Castiel's neck and sank his fingers into the hair at his nape. 

As the nails lightly scraped against his scalp, tightening, Castiel's stomach curled with heat, and his mouth went abruptly dry. 

Dean still held his hand with his right, while his left cupped the back of his head. And he gazed down at him with sharp green eyes, just  _ staring.  _ Then, both hands tugged on Castiel, lightly urging him to his feet. Castiel carefully went with the motion, trying not to sway, trying not to think, trying not to hope. 

Dean was not a master of communication, by far; in fact, he was worse at communicating than monks sworn to a vow of silence.  _ But  _ there was no mistaking his intentions when he folded the already small space between them into nonexistence and dipped his head close, eyes fluttering shut. 

Castiel did not understand how they got here, and he did not care. He simply closed his eyes and let it happen, banishing any concerns from his mind. 

The first brush of their mouths was soft and barely defined, warm skin only just passing over each other. Dean stopped there, his hand clamping down around Castiel's, a short exhale pushing harshly from his nose. Castiel tensed immediately, sure he'd done something wrong, but Dean's fingers knotted into his hair and pulled him closer. 

Castiel remembered every kiss he'd ever been a part of; Meg's had been intense and bright, Daphne's was soft and sweet, April's were gentle and empty. This kiss was none of those things. 

It was careful and slow, just a tactile press of mouths, warm and steady. Suddenly, Castiel felt as if he'd never actually been kissed before in his entire existence. As Dean's hand dropped his and raised to join his other in threading into his hair, Castiel tried to remember how to work his body. 

He couldn't think, let alone remember. 

That didn't seem to perturb Dean in the least. With a soft hum, something small and sweet, he shuffled a bit closer and broke apart for one sip of air before diving right back in. This time, he pressed more firmly, thumbs cradling the mound of Castiel's skull behind his ears. 

Remembering how he'd kissed before was futile; Castiel did not want to kiss Dean how he'd kissed any other. 

Breathing slowly through his nose, Castiel stopped trying to figure out what he should have been doing and just  _ did it.  _ With contentment and a pinch of victory, he tilted his head just so and pressed back into the warm mouth beneath his. One swipe of his tongue, and Dean granted him immediate entry, opening up with satisfied clench of his fingers, mindlessly tugging on his hair. 

After that, Castiel did not think at all. 

Dean's hands dropped from Castiel's hair, roaming over his arms and chest hungrily. It was as if he wanted to touch  _ everything,  _ simply because he could. Castiel completely understood, his hands already sweeping across Dean's broad shoulders, so impressed with the fact that he  _ could.  _

Grunting as he pulled away for a moment, Dean panted as he blinked owlishly at Cas, like he'd forgotten this was real life and he needed to breathe. Before a thought could pass between them, Dean started nudging him back, walking them towards the couch from which they'd stood. 

Their lips met again, a bit more urgent that time, and when the couch hit the back of his knees, Castiel had no doubts about what was to come. 

Huffing, Dean pulled back yet again to glare at the couch, like he was pissed that they weren't already lying on it. Castiel could relate, so he simply sat down, blinking up at him and waiting. Dean stared at him, gaze hazy and sparked with want, and Castiel hadn't ever seen something so beautiful. 

Clearly a mere split second from crawling in his lap and getting back to what they were doing, Dean started to lean down and brace the back of the couch. When the sudden sound of shoes coming down the hall broke through, Dean had just enough time to yank back as Sam stepped in the door. 

“Nothing,” Dean blurted in a rough voice, the word cracking. In all the years Castiel had known him, he'd never seen Dean be so far from smooth. 

Sam came to a halt, eyebrows crumbling together in confusion. “Huh?” 

Again, Dean cleared his throat and said, “Nothing.” 

“Did you need something?” Castiel asked calmly, internally wincing at the rough timbre of his voice. Curious. Arousal truly did thicken the throat. 

“Uh, I was just gonna let you know that burgers were done.” Sam flicked his gaze between them, eyes slowly narrowing suspiciously. “Is… everything okay?” 

Dean waved a hand, legs shuffling around jitterily. He cleared his throat again. “Yes, everything is just fine. Not- not great or perfect, or whatever. Not bad either. Just, yeah. Things are normal. I mean. Yeah.” 

It was the most Castiel had ever seen Dean blush. 

“Oh...kay,” Sam said, drawing the word out and rolling his eyes. “Whatever, dude. Come eat, your kid is very proud of his burgers, so don't mention the burned ones.” 

With that, Sam turned around and started back out the room. When his lumbering frame disappeared into the hall, Dean's eyes snapped back over to him, and Castiel went very still. He realized they needed to go, at least to avoid curiosity from their family until they actually  _ talked,  _ but something pinned him in place. He forced himself to ignore it and leaned forward, freezing when Dean nearly jumped a foot in the air, eyes going wide. 

“I'm gonna- burgers,” he choked out, nearly tripping over the other couch in his haste to get away. 

Before Castiel could say a word, Dean was sharply taking the corner and disappearing from his sight. Castiel refused to feel disappointed until they actually addressed anything, but that didn't stop him from frowning as he slowly followed. 

_ Do not stress,  _ he told himself firmly. 

He then immediately proceeded to disregard his own advice and do just that. 


	8. tear down those walls and live a life of sin

The day passed at a leisurely pace. 

Castiel usually didn't notice the time that passed, having lived so long that time was nothing more than an endless ocean that things occasionally dropped into. But after the impromptu kiss that had occurred, Castiel felt every second as if it were an hour. 

To make matters worse, Dean could not meet his eyes for longer than three seconds. To be fair, Castiel acted as normal as possible. He did not falter in any of his regular actions, resigning himself to simply wait until later that night to explore whatever he and Dean were doing, or would do. 

Rowena decided to stick around, and as more wine slipped into her system, her lips grew looser. In almost no time at all, she'd set her sights for Castiel, sidling up to him and slipping in an innuendo between every sentence. That, even more that the downward tilt to Dean's lips as he watched, flustered him enough to awkwardly want to get away. 

Eventually, after he hid in the library for hours with a book he couldn't focus on, Castiel heard Sam escort a very tipsy Rowena to a guest room. He soothed her as she irately blathered on about being a powerful witch who most definitely  _ wasn't  _ drunk, and would Sam spoon her so she could sleep. 

Sam firmly told her no, but Castiel did not hear him exit her room either. 

It took a bit more time for Jack to poke his head in, eyes blinking slowly with sleepiness. Like a child, he rubbed his fists into his eyes, yawning as he shuffled into the room. 

“You should sleep,” Castiel murmured, putting the book down to watch Jack hover behind a chair. 

“I'm fine.” 

“You're still recovering.” 

Jack frowned. “I'm fine,” he repeated more firmly. 

“Jack-” 

“What's going on with you and Dean?” 

For the very first time in his life, Castiel considered the ability of someone swallowing their own tongue as  _ possible.  _ He very nearly did then and his face almost spasmed, but with effort, he managed to keep his expression blank. 

“What do you mean?” Castiel asked softly. “Dean and I are the same we have always been.” 

Jack frowned harder. “Yes, but Sam said something the other day. He mentioned something about you two acting married.” 

“Sam was teasing, Jack.” 

“Oh, I know. But that doesn't mean he didn't have a point.” 

Castiel slowly narrowed his eyes. “Go to bed, Jack.” 

As if he'd won something, Jack's lips curled up in delight and he chirped, “Okay.” 

With that, he walked out the room, smiling down at his shoes as he went. Castiel tipped his head back and stared at the ceiling, dreading the day Jack would  _ actually  _ hit his teenage years. Quick-witted as he was already, they all surely were to have their hands full. 

The sound of boots clomping towards the library had Castiel's head snapping up. He waited patiently, watching for Dean to approach. After a moment, Dean's body curled around the doorway, his face leaning against the plaster. His eyes swept around the room, lips tipped down. 

“You seen Sam? He's not in his room,” Dean murmured quietly. 

Castiel kept his lips from twitching into a grin, but it was a very close thing. “I believe he is sleeping in Rowena's room tonight.” 

Dean stared at him. “Tell me you're joking.” 

“I'm afraid not.” Castiel could not hold back his small smile that time. 

Dean tossed his head back and groaned, sounding as if he had just been told that beer wouldn't ever hit the production line again. Very carefully, he gently thumped his head into the wall, looking pained. 

Castiel sighed softly and stood, moving across the room silently. Dean had his eyes closed as he muttered about his brother's sense and the fact that he apparently had none. “Might as well plan her funeral now,” he was mumbling when Castiel placed his hand in the path of Dean's forehead. 

Dean's head stopped against his fingers, and he froze there, going still. Castiel watched intently, waiting for his reaction. Dean simply leaned his head against his fingers, eyes still closed, and let out a long, shaky breath. 

“Dean, you wanted to talk?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, we should-” 

Dean retracted himself away from Castiel, eyes bouncing to his face and away like a tennis ball. After some internal struggle, he managed to point himself in the direction of his room. Castiel followed silently, rolling his eyes when Dean paused by the guest room to listen. But he also stepped up to listen in as well, curious despite himself. 

There was a soft hum behind the door, and it came from Sam, sounding all levels of awkward. Rowena was mumbling incoherently, words not quite making sense, and Dean held up a finger to his lips. Very carefully, he reached out to wrap his fingers around the doorknob, slowly turning it. He winced as it creaked quietly, but the door opened to a crack. 

They both peered through curiously, and Castiel blinked at the sight of Sam curled up behind Rowena, quietly humming what Castiel knew to be  _ My Heart Will Go On.  _ She had her head tucked over his arm, frown on her face as she muttered in her sleep. As Sam's humming grew louder, her mumbles trailed off and she slipped off into peaceful sleep. 

Dean shared a look with Castiel, shrugging and making an ‘ _ fuck if I know’  _ face. Silently, he shut the door back and continued on. 

There would be teasing about that later, Castiel knew. 

For now, they slipped into Dean's room. He flicked the lights on and moved to sit on his bed. Castiel wasn't sure what to do, or say, so he settled for hovering awkwardly in front of the door and watching Dean kick his boots off and tug his socks off, meticulously folding them and placing them in a stacked pile. Still without looking at Castiel, Dean tugged his jacket off and laid it over bedside table. He moved to his belt then, undoing it and tugging it out the loops of his jeans to let it drop on his jacket with a clink. 

Then, he threaded his hands together and placed his elbows on his knees, hunching forward and going still. Castiel waited, was willing to wait forever, but he felt off-kilter, stomach churning, mind rushing with endless possibilities, each worse than the last. 

Dean cleared his throat and slowly lifted his head, eyeing him from his peripheral. “So,” he murmured quietly. 

“You wanted to talk,” Castiel reminded him gently. 

“Yeah, that was something I wanted to do.” 

“But you no longer wish to? That is fine, Dean. I can leave if you wish, it's-” 

Dean launched from the bed, whirling towards him and holding his hands out. “Wait, don't go,” he blurted out. “Listen, I'm going to  _ try,  _ okay? And I ain't gonna make a lick of sense, but- but I'm gonna try to talk. I just suck at it.” 

“We don't have to talk,” Castiel offered, smiling easily. “If you're not comfortable, we can simply enjoy each other's company in silence.” 

“Yeah, see, that's the kinda shit you  _ can't  _ say to me, man. 'Cause I might just do it.” Sighing, Dean stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Alright, look, I missed you. Let's just start with that.” 

“You… missed me?” Castiel echoed in confusion, squinting as he attempted to figure out when exactly Dean had the time to miss him. He hadn't gone anywhere recently, he was sure. 

Dean huffed a short laugh. “Yeah, I'm already bad at this. Okay. I missed not being able to touch you. And I guess I miss you when you're not around, or whatever.” 

“I see.” 

“And I guess… when I was hurting you, I realized how much I didn't  _ want  _ to hurt you, ya know? And not being able to touch you sucked, but only because I touch you more than I realized.” Dean gave an awkward shrug, nose wrinkling. “It's like… you know how people say you don't really know what ya got ‘til it's gone? It's like that.” 

“It  _ was  _ upsetting,” Castiel agreed quietly, lips tipping down into a frown. 

Dean looked up to the ceiling, red patches slowly blooming up his neck, heading straight for his cheeks. “I, uh, kinda realized that I was avoiding something between us. Ya know?” 

“Not really,” Castiel admitted honestly. 

“Right.” Dean heaved a sigh, dropping his chin to watch Castiel warily. “Guess you wouldn't, considering I'm a fucking idiot when it comes to talking about shit.”

“You're not an idiot, don't call yourself an idiot.” 

“See? Like you're just so effortlessly…  _ you.  _ How am I supposed to- dude, you're literally  _ so  _ outta my league, it ain't even funny.” 

Castiel blinked. “You think… I am better than you?” 

“You are. I mean, that's how I see it, anyway. Probably not how  _ you  _ see it, but that's exactly why you're better. Fucking humble, too.” 

“Dean-” 

“No, nope.” Dean waved a hand and took a deep breath. “Okay, that's beside the point. I wasn't gonna kiss you, just so you know. That was... that was selfish as hell. Just got excited that I could touch you again and one thing led to another, and you  _ let  _ me. Why did you let me?”

“I… wanted you to?” Castiel replied, but it slipped out as a question. He tilted his head, considering that closely. “Yes, I wanted you to. It was very nice.” 

Dean bobbed his head. “Okay, yeah, that's- that's fine. Nice. Right. But the thing is, uh, for  _ me,  _ it was more than just… nice. It was a pretty big step. For me, I mean. And it meant more. You get me?” 

“So, what you're saying—just to be clear—is that you believe I am better than you, but you have romantic feelings for me despite that, and that kiss amplified or explained it, or both?” 

“Little more than that, but to smack a summary on it, yeah. Basically.” 

“Is this recent?” Castiel asked curiously. 

“I mean, I dunno? I kinda struggle with feelings of most kinds, so if I'm aware of this, it's probably been going on for awhile. I'm not sure, honestly.” 

“I understand. And when did you realize?” 

Dean shifted awkwardly, looking down at his feet, then at the wall behind Castiel's head. “Kinda knew it for awhile, but really, actually, uh, accepted it around the time I couldn't touch you without hurting you. I was keeping count, man. Do you even know how many times I try and touch you in a day?” 

“Not particularly,” Castiel murmured. He frowned slightly. “You wanted to talk to tell me this?” 

“Yeah, figured you should know, in case-” 

“In case?” 

Dean swallowed. “I dunno, Cas. Our lives are fucking nuts sometimes, you know? Never know what's gonna happen, who's gonna die, where we're gonna be. I mean, if we get a chance at something, we should take it, right? If it's mutual, I mean.” 

“It?” 

“The feelings.” 

“Oh.” Castiel had to pause and think that over, considering it seriously. “So, you wish to, what, be romantically entangled?” 

Dean grimaced, eyes snapping to his for a moment before slithering away. His toes flexed on the carpet and the recently faded blush came back with full force. Castiel wondered casually if it would be hot under his tongue. 

Ah. 

Well, that explained a lot. 

“You ain't gotta… say anything, or do anything for that matter. I'm just letting you know, alright?” Dean cleared his thick throat. “It's hard to explain, Cas. You ain't really ever had a reason to be here, 'specially not in these last few years.” 

Castiel arched on offended eyebrow. 

“No, that's not what I meant. Shit, that's not what I'm saying. I just mean that you could probably be off in heaven, doing your own thing. You're an  _ angel,  _ Cas. Little wars shouldn't even interest you like this. And I know you get cramped and stuff, but you hang around anyway.” 

“Heaven is not my home, Dean. I am an angel, yes, but that is not all that I am. Not anymore. As far as any other angels are concerned, that makes me something other an angel automatically.” 

“I know that,” Dean said quickly, relaxing now that Castiel was replying to him. “What I'm trying, and failing, to say is that you could probably be flying off to do whatever. Plenty of cats to save outta trees. But you're here, and I- I  _ want  _ you to be. That's the part that don't make no sense. Yeah, you're family, but so is Jody, so was Bobby. I ain't never needed them at my side, didn't really want it like this either. Mom, Jack,  _ Sam?  _ They're different. They're- they're everything. I didn't choose them, wouldn't make a different choice if I could. But I chose you. You're- you're my best friend, Cas.” 

And Castiel knew Dean to his barest scrap, knew him the same way Dean knew Baby. In all fairness, Castiel, too, had put Dean back together after he'd been torn apart. But this,  _ this  _ was something else entirely. This was born from years of being at Dean's side, of knowing how he was, of knowing how to read into what he meant. 

This was practically a love confession. 

“I understand,” Castiel assured him again. 

Dean nodded and swallowed. “And I ain't sayin’ we gotta be anything. We don't. I'm fine with not doing anything, but if you wanted to, if you felt the same, I'd be willing to deal with all the horrible shit that came with it.”

“How would… we work?” 

“I'm hoping that it'd be the same? Just add some dates and sex? I don't wanna lose my best friend. Call me selfish but-” 

“No, I agree,” Castiel cut him off, instantly relieved by those words. 

“You're into me?” Dean asked suspiciously, clearly doubting, lips tipping down. 

Castiel rolled his eyes. “Your view of yourself is so skewed. Yes, you are childish. Yes, you have anger issues. Yes, you lash out. Yes, you have many issues that you face. But Dean… I have chosen to stand beside you in the midst of those things since I met you. Why wouldn't I now?” 

“Dunno,” Dean mumbled, averting his eyes for a split second. When he looked back, he licked his lips nervously. “Love's a bit different, Cas.” 

“Yes, I am aware. No, I will not be scared away. No, I will not regret it. Stop trying to sway yourself from a slice of happiness. What is so wrong with two men partaking in romantic and sexual activity in the midst of a horror-film-esque lifestyle?” Castiel lifted his lips into an amused smirk. 

Dean blew his cheeks out, eyes going mockingly wide. “Dude, that's a loaded question.” 

Castiel tilted his head, staring right at Dean, watching him intently. “The kissing was good, wasn't it? I think so.” 

“Yeah, it was… yeah,” Dean agreed faintly, weak humor draining as his eyes flicked from Castiel's gaze to his lips in rotation. 

“We could-” 

That was about the only words Castiel could get out before Dean strode across the room with determined green eyes. Castiel got to suck in one sharp breath of excitement before Dean sunk his fingers into his hair and just  _ kissed him.  _

And it was exciting, for reasons Castiel hadn't ever thought to explore before. Dean was many things, but he'd never been a romantic option. Until now. 

They fumbled through it, eager and learning, and that was okay. Their elbows knocked together, noses pressing at odd angles, both trying to move without parting. But somehow, the awkwardness was comforting. Even when they both nearly tripped on the way to the bed, it wasn't something worth shame. They simply broke apart, and Dean gave a breathless laugh as Castiel guided him back towards the bed a bit forcefully. 

“Horizontal. Great fucking idea.” 

Castiel could not agree more. They both scooted back on the bed, flopping sideways on the pillows, and resumed kissing. 

Dean was very responsive, either because he was simply a sexual person, or because he very much liked what was occurring. Castiel figured it was a little bit of both. Dean seem to appreciate lip biting, humming and curling in closer, his fingers clenching on whatever spot they roamed at the time. Castiel particularly liked Dean's tongue flicking against his, wet and sensitive, the contact sending a jolt straight through him. 

Dean's hands moved over his skin, pressing and pushing at cloth, exploring with touch now that he could do so. Castiel was perfectly fine with that, content to explore with his lips, moving away from the kiss to taste the salty skin of Dean's neck. 

Castiel wondered in a vague daze where this was going to go, if he wanted it to go anywhere at all. Human anatomy was not something he concerned himself with, but that didn't stop him from deriving pleasure from it when the time arose. Dean was especially beautiful, always had been to Castiel, and it was no secret that he was good at sex. 

Because he was blunt, Castiel asked, “Are we going to have sex?” 

Dean pulled back to blink at him, the fog in his eyes clearing as he stared. His hands twitched against Castiel's chest. “Uh, are you offering?” 

“I'm not opposed.” 

“Right, yeah, but do you  _ want  _ to?” 

“I would enjoy it,” Castiel admitted. “But it is not something I require. I am fine with or without.”

“But you'd like to?” 

“Yes, I think it would be… enticing.” 

Dean licked his lips. “Right, yeah. Um, just gotta ask… you ever done anything with a man?” 

“No. Have you?” 

“Yeah, actually. There were times when I was a demon, and before then, when I was younger.” 

“I see. As you know, sexual and gender orientation do not matter to me,” Castiel assured him. 

“Yeah, but doing it with a woman is a lot different than doing it with a man, trust me.” 

“Show me?” 

Dean released a slow breath, his nails digging into Castiel's chest through his shirt. “I can just show you porn, so you have an idea. Don't want to go into anything blind. Not that porn is very accurate, but uh, it shows the fundamentals.” 

Castiel considered this, lips pursing. With an awkward shrug, he shifted to lie on his back. “Okay, Dean.” 

Dean also squirmed to lay beside him, propping his knees up as he pulled his phone from his pocket. Castiel watched him fiddle with it, pulling up a website with genitalia as the main focus. Dean paused for a moment, the cursor blinking in the searchbar, then his fingers tapped away. 

Dean scrolled down to the fifth video with practiced ease. He clicked on it and turned his phone sideways, letting the video begin with the sound turned half-way up. It began, quite literally, in the middle of what Castiel knew to be foreplay. 

One man was on his knees, looking very excited to have a penis in his mouth. Castiel tilted his head, eyebrows crumbling together as he watched. The man moaned loudly as he bobbed his head. 

“That's a blowjob,” Dean said helpfully. 

Castiel huffed. “I know what blowjobs are, Dean.” 

With a snicker, Dean fast-forwarded the video exactly two minutes later. “Fine, to the nitty gritty, then. See that? Lube. Cause you can't just shove your fingers up an ass without lube.” 

As Dean pointed out, the man with tattoos and dark hair had lathered up his fingers and did as Dean said he would. The man below, with his legs to his chest, looked far more blissed out than anyone should in that position. But Castiel did not say that out loud. 

Things continued on. Most of the sounds were tacky and amusing, and Dean kept quietly chuckling every time something squelched. The man with the tattoos seemed a caring lover, even if it was his job, and he kissed the other man throughout, gentle and sweet. In fact, despite the pornographic sounds, the overall video wasn't that horrible. 

“Only two?” Castiel murmured, nodding at the screen as the man with the tattoos finished what he was doing and moved to apply lube to his penis. 

Dean hummed. “Yeah, they're all prepped and ready before the porn, so that was all for show.” 

They both went quiet as the man proceeded to push his penis into the other man's ass. For something that humans made out to be vulgar, it actually didn't seem like something to be ashamed of. The man underneath groaned and rolled his hips, not seeming bothered in the least. 

“They seem to be enjoying themselves,” Castiel commented casually. 

Dean nudged Castiel's shoulder. “Most of it is fake. Well, as fake as fucking can get. Sex ain't always like that. And taking it up the ass can hurt if whoever you’re fucking ain't careful.” 

“You have?” 

“Yeah, couple of times.” 

“You prefer to be penetrated?” 

“I mean, I'm good with either. Done both.” 

“I see,” Castiel murmured, lips tipping down. “I have done neither with a man. I want to try everything.” 

Dean paused the video and stared at the side of Castiel's face, eyes wide. “You serious?” 

“Isn't it customary to find out what best suits you and your partner? How would we know if we didn't try all of it?” 

“I don't know how you make talking like that adorable and sexy all at once, but here we are.” 

Castiel felt a burst of pleasure at the compliment, and he smiled, unable to stop himself. “Thank you, Dean. And not to worry, we do not have to rush into anything. If you'd rather wait, we-” 

“Dude, do you know who you're talking to?” Dean exited out the video and set his phone aside, sitting up on his elbows to peer down at Castiel in thinly veiled amusement. “I'm cool with getting started with everything sooner rather than later, you just gotta tell me where you wanna start.” 

“Perhaps we should kiss and see what happens.” 

“Yeah, sure, making out with no real plan doesn't take me back to being a horny teenager  _ at all.”  _

“Dean,” Castiel rumbled, amused. 

Rolling his eyes, Dean leaned up and started yanking on his t-shirt, lifting it over his head and tossing it to the floor. Castiel flicked his gaze over Dean's broad back appreciatively; angel or not, he was not blind and could admit that Dean was one of the most beautiful humans on earth. 

“My eyes are up here,” Dean teased lightly, watching Castiel eye him in a mixture of pride and amusement. 

Castiel simply squinted at him. “Yes, I know.” 

Dean grinned and shook his head, looking as if he thought he was the luckiest man in the world. He twisted around without a word and started tugging on Castiel's shirt, urging him to pull it off. Castiel obliged him, casually tossing it aside and humming in amusement when Dean immediately started tracing shapes into his chest. 

“Tickles?” Dean asked quietly. 

“No,” Castiel lied. Then in a firmer voice, he ordered, “Lay on your back.” 

Dean did so with easy compliance that he didn't even seem to realize. He blinked up at him, waiting patiently, and Castiel thought he enjoyed that far more than he should. Dean didn't even seem to realize just how he'd reacted; for someone so argumentative and brazen, he certainly obeyed  _ that  _ without any problems. 

Either way, Dean's apparent niche for taking orders in the midst of sexual activity was not the point. 

Castiel followed the motion, allowing his body to get him where he needed to go. He ended up sitting just above Dean's knees, legs tucked under him, and that was exactly where he wanted to be. He had complete access to Dean's mouth and chest, which were the main focus of his attention at the moment. 

“Lap full of angel, okay then.” Dean gave him a cheeky wink, amused for some reason. 

Castiel ignored him, in no mood to break the moment with jokes. He leaned into Dean, catching his lips with his own, sliding his hands down Dean's arms to catch his wrists. Mostly working on autopilot, he raised Dean's arms above his head and pinned them down into the pillows. There,  _ perfect.  _

Dean pulled away from the kiss to stare at his hands pinned above his head with some amount of surprise and amazement, green eyes crawling to land on Castiel in nothing short of shock. Castiel did not let go, but he paused. 

“What?” he asked quietly, wanting to make sure he hadn't done anything wrong. 

Dean cleared his throat. “Nothing,” he choked out, holding very still. “I like this a normal amount.”

“You like this?” Castiel tightened his fingers around Dean's wrists experimentally, clenching his knees on Dean's hips when he squirmed slightly. “Are you certain?” 

“Yup, yeah, I'm- yeah. Manhandling. Good. Yes.” 

That was interesting, and Castiel  _ almost  _ wanted to stop everything and get a rundown of all the other possibly surprising things Dean liked. But he made a mental note to do that later. For now, they could keep it light and exploratory. Doing just that, Castiel leaned back down and kissed Dean yet again. 

Something in him marveled that he could do that. It hadn't been something he'd spent years wishing he could do, but now that he could, he felt relief as if he had been. 

For one long moment, they kissed deep and slow, lips cradling each other's. Dean had no shame about licking into his mouth, tasting him as if he'd never need to consume anything else. Castiel found that the harder he nipped Dean's bottom lip, tugging and rolling it between his teeth, the more labored Dean's breathing became. But ultimately, it was Dean's tongue running over the curl up his top lip that changed the tides of their destination, his tongue tracing along wet and slow. 

Castiel felt it straight in every nerve-ending he had, and he could not recall a time he  _ felt  _ to such an extreme, except when he was human. It was such a lovely surprise that his body jerked, a soft sound he wasn't aware he could make falling from his mouth as his hips rolled in one hot stripe. For a moment, they both froze, cataloguing the swift change of pace. 

Dean trembled beneath him, waiting, and Castiel was ridiculously pleased at that fact. Rewarding them both, he dragged his hips back down almost curiously, and sure enough, pleasure shot through them both in white-hot bursts. 

“Do not lift your hands,” Castiel ordered in a growl, voice rough and low. 

Dean's eyes fluttered shut and he kept his hands tight to the pillows when Castiel let him go. Pleased, Castiel pressed shallow kisses around his right collarbone, nipping at the skin and sucking it in apology. His hands drifted down between them to tug at Dean's jeans. He had to lift up and sit back to unbutton them, tugging the front open wide. 

Dean's proof of arousal was a firm bulge in the dip between the open zipper of his jeans. Castiel very slowly let his eyes meander up Dean's body, inching up from his waist, along his naked chest, to where he still had his own hands pinned down. Dean's eyes were open and hooded, waiting to see where this would go, and Castiel remembered to breathe. 

More hasty than before, Castiel worked his own pants open, rolling them down to about mid-thigh. It didn't matter, it was going to give him the contact he wanted, even with the cloth of their underwear in the way. He let himself move back down, coming back up to grip Dean's wrists again. 

Dean stared at him, breath coming out harsh and quick. “Are you going to-” 

His words cut off as Castiel answered his unasked question.  _ Yes,  _ Castiel was going to rut against him with only a small bit of cloth between them, and  _ yes,  _ they were going to enjoy that. Everything else, all the things that required hands and mouths, that would come after deeper discussion. For now, they could have this, and it  _ would  _ be enough. 

Dean did not seem to be complaining. 

It was awkward, the clothes didn't allow a perfect range of motion, but they were gasping into each other's mouths in two minutes flat  _ anyway.  _

Castiel found the perfect motion for the most pleasure for the both of them. Alternating between rolling his hips like rowing a boat or gliding back and forth like sawing wood, he managed to haul them closer and closer to orgasm. Holding his hands down and locking him in place with his knees seemed to help Dean right along. With every clench of Castiel's fingers, his breath shuddered out of him as his eyes fluttered open and shut. 

Castiel knew, despite everything, that this was going to be one of his fondest memories. Just staring at Dean like this, lost in his own pleasure, so heartbreakingly  _ pretty;  _ it would quickly become something Castiel would think on frequently. 

“I want to see you orgasm,” Castiel told him seriously, ignoring his own gravelly voice. 

Dean's eyes snapped open and he sucked in a sharp breath, hips bucking up. “Yeah?” he croaked, voice wrecked and cracking. 

Castiel rocked down, digging in, careless of Dean's zipper digging into his thigh. “Do it.” 

Just that, two words, not a request. And Dean  _ did.  _

Dean's jaw unhinged, mouth parting, and his back arched clear off the bed, making their chests bump. His whole body twitched, as if he felt his release in every cell he had. Castiel watched, entranced by the sight, and continued to roll his hips, helping him along. The wet spot brought easier glide, and Castiel found his own release shortly after. Opposite of Dean, his jaw snapped shut and he curled in, almost folding in half. He pressed his forehead into Dean's throat and rode it out, eyes clenched shut. 

Spent and relaxed, Dean flopped back onto the bed and let out a long, pleased sigh. He did not seem bothered by Castiel's loose grip on his wrists or by him splaying out on top of him. So, Castiel did not let go or move for a long moment. 

They stayed that way for awhile. 

Then, “Dude, I'm sticky.” 

Right. 

Sighing, Castiel flung himself to the side, landing on his back next to Dean. “As am I.” 

“Frottage,” Dean muttered, scoffing as he sat up on his elbows. “Could we be  _ more _ gay?” 

“I was under the impression you were bisexual,” Castiel told him seriously. 

Dean snorted. “You're right, I am. Alright, I need a shower. You comin’?” 

“No,” Castiel said, staring down at his own messy state. “Just bring me a washrag.” 

“Suit yourself.” 

With that, Dean rolled out of his bed and tugged his jeans up over his messy underwear with a grimace. He waddled from the room at a slow pace, grumbling under his breath. Castiel waited, and before long, he hobbled back into the doorway, tossing a damp washrag across the room. Castiel snatched it from the air, smirking when Dean rolled his eyes and started towards the shower. 

Castiel cleaned himself up and picked a pair of Dean's underwear and pants to try and fit himself into. They weren't too different in size, but Castiel's thighs were thicker. He managed to get into a pair of worn jeans without worryingly stretching the seam, so he considered that a win. He went ahead and snagged another t-shirt, black again, and then laid himself on the bed to wait. 

Dean took his time, but he did eventually walk back into his room. He wore nothing but another pair of briefs and a t-shirt with a hole in the armpit. 

“Better?” 

Dean nodded as he padded to the bed, flopping face first into the pillows. “Much,” he muttered, the word muffled. 

“Are you tired?” Castiel asked softly. 

Dean gave a noncommittal grunt. “S'fine.” 

“Sleep, we can talk tomorrow.” 

“I'm good.” 

Castiel reached out and ran his fingers through Dean's short hair, huffing out a small laugh when Dean's eyes automatically shut. “Just rest.” 

“Okay,” Dean agreed with a hum. 

Without removing his hand from Dean's hair, Castiel leaned over to flick off the lamp. The room dipped into darkness and he settled back into the bed, calmly stroking Dean's hair. The night crept on, silent except for Dean's soft snores, and Castiel did not stop petting Dean's hair, not even when he stopped cuddling his pillow and started cuddling him instead. 

And it was his favorite night to date. 


	9. touch, like a melody, soothes

When Castiel's internal clock notified him that it was morning and Dean would be awake soon, he carefully retracted himself from Dean's grip. Even grumpy in his sleep, Dean tightened his grip and snuffled unhappily as Castiel slid away. 

Castiel's heart thumped unevenly at that, but he resolutely ignored it. 

Silently moving across the room, he eased the door open and carefully stepped into the hall. The door shut with a soft click, and Castiel turned around quickly, only to come face-to-face with Rowena and Sam. 

They both stared at him. 

“Good morning,” he greeted quietly. 

Rowena's lips curled up knowingly. “A good night last night, I take it, dear?” 

Castiel narrowed his eyes, flicking his gaze between them pointedly. “For all, I'm sure.” 

Sam's face erupted into a blush, his hands awkwardly dancing in the air as if he could physically catch Castiel's accusation and shove it away. Rowena tilted her chin, sniffing primly, looking like the regal queen she believed herself to be. With her head held high, she tapped Sam's chest, lightly stroking it, and walked away, heels clicking. 

“It wasn't like that,” Sam immediately blurted. 

“That's fine,” Castiel replied casually, well aware that it hadn't been. 

“I'm serious.” 

“Of course, Sam.” 

“Dammit, Cas, we didn't- you know what, screw you.  _ You're  _ the one sneaking out of my brother's room at the ass crack of dawn.” Sam crossed his arms, holding strong in the face of his own embarrassment. “What's your excuse?” 

Castiel leveled him with a blank stare. “I was going to make Dean coffee.” 

“Oh,” Sam muttered, blinking. “So, uh,  _ not  _ what Rowena was thinking, huh?” 

“What was she thinking?” Castiel asked, heading towards the kitchen. 

Sam fell into step beside him. “Walk of shame, man. Like y'all did, uh,  _ things  _ last night and now you're trying to get away.” 

Castiel came to a stuttering halt. “Will Dean assume this as well?” 

“Uh, I don't know.  _ Did  _ y'all do-” 

“Yes.”

Sam's mouth dropped open, his eyes growing twice in size. “Really?” 

“Yes,” Castiel repeated. 

“Okay, look, don't tell Dean, but I  _ did  _ stay in Rowena's room last night,” Sam hissed, stepping closer and looking around shiftily. “But it really isn't what you think. She has nightmares, ya know? And I couldn't- well, I helped her sleep.” 

“Dean knows,” Castiel admitted. 

Sam groaned.  _ “Shit.  _ I thought we were trading secrets here, man.” 

“Dean is not my secret, and you should not be embarrassed about helping a friend. And if it  _ was  _ more than that, you shouldn't be ashamed. Rowena is very beautiful and ambitious.” Castiel arched an eyebrow in challenge. 

“Why are you so sensible?” Sam muttered, strolling along and tugging Castiel to follow him. “So, you and Dean, huh?” 

Castiel hummed. “Unless anything has changed in the last nine hours, yes.” 

Sam cringed. “Dean's, uh, not so great with feelings and stuff, Cas. He might-”

“Neither of you are so great with those things, and to be perfectly honest, I am not either. What is your point?” 

“Sometimes your honesty really kicks me in the teeth, you asshole. Alright, I just mean… don't get your hopes up, or anything, okay? Dean cares about you, without a doubt, but he's got a lot of shit knocking around in his brain. I don't want either of you to get hurt.” 

Castiel mulled that over for a moment. “I see.” 

“Um, that's not to say anything  _ has  _ changed,” Sam said quickly, waving his hands around. “Don't listen to me, I don't know shit about anything.” 

“And what of you and Rowena?” Castiel picked up his pace, refusing to acknowledge the worry that gnawed away in the pit of his stomach. He led them into the kitchen, making a beeline for the old coffee machine they overused. “Will she continue to stay here? Will you continue to… help her sleep? Do you want her to?” 

Sam leaned against the counter with a mug waiting, his shoulders awkwardly arching up. “I dunno, Cas. She mentioned something about a guy with a mango farm; I'm pretty sure she's heading out soon to Guarma to steal him blind. But until then… I don't know.” 

“You can be honest,” Castiel said sincerely, listening to the coffee machine chug along. 

“I mean, she's…  _ her,  _ ya know? Everything you said and more. But I couldn't, even if I- well, I couldn't.”

“And why not?” 

“Everyone always dies,” Sam replied solemnly, staring down into his empty mug. “Billie said that I would be the one to kill her, no one else. Everyone I've ever been involved with… just  _ dies.  _ Jess, Madison, Amy, Eileen. Hell, even  _ Gabriel.”  _

Castiel knocked his wrist into the counter as his head snapped up. “Gabriel?” he echoed flatly. 

Sam cleared his throat, cheeks going pink. “I didn't- we never got to, but uh, almost. Before we could even- well, he died. Twice.” 

“That is… surprising,” Castiel admitted. 

“Dean's not the only one who can like dick,” Sam said with a smirk. 

“Noted,” Castiel replied dryly. His face softened as he stared at Sam. “Surely not  _ everyone  _ you've been involved with has died.” 

Sam pursed his lips. “Well, Amelia didn't. Guess she got out before she could. And there was this one waitress, but I didn't even really know her name.” 

“See?” Castiel chirped in faux cheer. “Two women made it out. And Rowena is very headstrong. She has been killed by Lucifer and refused to stay dead. I think she can handle herself.” 

“It  _ has  _ been awhile since anything like that happened. Maybe I broke a mirror or something,” Sam muttered. 

“Possibly.” 

“But whatever, I guess we'll see what happens. Like you said, Rowena is headstrong. If she's… interested, she'll let me know. Now, back to you.” 

“Back to me?” Castiel asked lightly, pretending he didn't know what Sam was talking about. 

“Mhm. Don't think I didn't notice you were shifting focus off yourself.” Sam held out his mug when the coffee machine wheezed its finish. “You're pretending not to be worried, but I can tell you are, so talk to me. Was it just something that happened? Did y'all at least talk before- well.” 

Castiel watched Sam wrinkle his nose in faint amusement. “Yes, we talked.” 

“And?” 

“And we agreed to have sexual and romantic relations. It was mutual.” 

Sam looked like he wanted to gag and smile all at once. “Okay, that's good. If Dean's talking about it, that pretty much means he's invested. When it comes to you, at least. Whatcha gonna tell Jack?” 

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “Are  _ you  _ going to tell Jack that you're Rowena's new cuddle-buddy?” 

“Rowena doesn't live here,” Sam quipped back with satisfaction, having the air of a man who blocked a sparring punch perfectly. “Plus, if Rowena and I  _ were  _ to become anything, I would totally tell him.” 

“And you call me sensible.” 

“So, what are you gonna say to him?” 

“I don't know,” Castiel snapped back. “Listen Jack, sometimes when two parents love each other very much, they-” 

Sam burst out into laughter, head tossing back, unbothered by Castiel's sarcasm. “That is definitely the route you  _ don't  _ want to take, Cas. Maybe just be honest? He's a kid, but he isn't stupid.” 

Castiel sulked, stirring a small amount of sugar into Dean's coffee. “I'm aware. But I also have to figure out what  _ Dean's  _ going to do.” 

Whatever Sam was gonna say was cut off by the sound of Dean's boots moving through the hall, drawing closer. Castiel's stomach twisted, anxiety spiking, and he whirled around with the coffee mug pressed hot against his chest. He and Sam waited silently, and Dean walked in the room with a loud yawn, dressed fully in case he needed to leave quickly. As always. 

“Morning,” Sam greeted casually. 

Castiel tried to say something, but his jaw felt bolted shut, so he stayed silent. 

“Morning,” Dean grumbled, shuffling over towards Castiel, eyes locked onto the coffee. “That for me?” 

Castiel's answer was to hold it out as an offer. He wasn't sure what he was supposed to be saying or doing, so he stayed utterly silent and still. Dean, however, did not seem to have that problem. 

With the ease of a man who'd been doing it for years, Dean grabbed the mug from Castiel with one hand while the other reached out to curl along his hip. Dean pressed in, closing the space until the mug was the only thing between them. Humming, he pressed a short kiss to his lips, holding there for a moment, and when he pulled away, he lifted his mug to hide his smirk as he sipped his coffee. 

Castiel choked out, “Good morning.” 

“It is,” Dean agreed, flicking his gaze over to a stunned Sam. “By the way, me and Cas are fucking.” 

Sam huffed a short, shocked laugh. “Yeah, I got that. Congrats, I guess?” 

“Fucking means sex, doesn't it?” 

Castiel's head whipped around in perfect sync with Dean's and Sam's. He was sure that if he looked, they all had the matching expressions of utter horror. Jack continued in the kitchen, moving to the fridge to grab one of the juice boxes he'd insisted sit on the shelf next to the beer. He poked a straw through it and started sipping, staring at them patiently. 

“Um,” Castiel said. 

Dean cleared his throat. “Yes, but don't call it that.”

“Don't even think about it,” Sam corrected evenly. “That's not something you need to worry about now. Or ever, really.” 

Jack continued to stare at them. Then, he pushed the straw from his mouth and said, “But I thought you two weren't married.” 

“We're not,” Castiel and Dean intoned in unison. 

“Well, technically two versions of yourself are. Had to get a marriage certificate for Castiel and Dean Novak, so y'all could get a divorce.” Sam's lips quirked up in amusement. “Never did finalize that divorce, just hadn't gotten around to it yet.” 

“You've got to be joking,” Dean replied flatly. 

Sam chuckled. “Definitely not. Got it printed off. Want it?” 

Dean stared at him for a long moment, then rolled his eyes. “Yes. Shut up, bitch.” 

Castiel ducked his head to hide his smile. 

“Morning, dearies,” Rowena announced as she walked into the kitchen. Her eyes flicked to Sam, then quickly away. 

Dean's eyes, however, lit up in delight. “Rowena, good morning. How was your night?” 

“Not as good as yours, I hear.” 

“Well-” 

Castiel very firmly wrapped his hand around Dean's head, clamping it over Dean's mouth. His muffled words tapered off, and his body went very still. Castiel smiled politely at everyone. 

“Jack,” he murmured, shooting a pointed look at an awkward Sam, “how would you feel about a trip to the aquarium?”

Jack sucked down all his juice and quickly tossed the box in the trash. Beaming, he declared, “I'm ready.” 

“Go change your shirt, you've been wearing that one for three days.” Castiel started walking Dean out the door, winking at Sam as he went, and Jack dutifully followed, groaning that his clothes weren't dirty. 

They split off, Jack heading to do as Castiel told him to, and they marched right along to Dean's room. Castiel had barely gotten the door shut before Dean ducked from under his hand and whirled around, pressing him back against the door and plundering Castiel's mouth as if it was his only source of air. Castiel allowed it, pleased to let it stretch on forever, and he barely hid his disappointment when Dean minutely pulled back and pressed his forehead to Castiel's, his heart thundering under Castiel's hand. 

“You…” Dean didn't seem able to say much else. 

Castiel hummed. “You,” he agreed. 

“So, why'd you lead me outta there?” 

“Sam has his own things to work out. We should allow him to do so.” 

“Fair enough.” 

“So, the aquarium?” 

Dean let out a soft laugh, pulling back slightly. His left hand laid perfectly over Castiel's favorite scar. “I'd probably follow you any-fucking-where.” 

“If I told you to, you probably would,” Castiel teased, one eyebrow sweeping up. 

“Yeah, that's- probably.” Dean only looked half-embarrassed. “But you gotta quit looking at me like that if you want to get out of this room, man.” 

Castiel's face softened and he nodded, opening the door and leading Dean out by the hand. And together, they took Jack to the aquarium, leaving Sam and Rowena to work out whatever they needed to. Castiel hoped, for everyone's sake, they would make it out of the kitchen before they started doing anything sexual. 

Castiel learned very quickly that everything was becoming his favorite as of late, but he wasn't going to deny that it had to do with two matching handprints and hands that could join without pain. Castiel's grace curled up within him, pleased and warm, nothing more than the brightest flicker amongst a dark backdrop. 

All things considered, Castiel found solace in the fact that his life could, and would, continue just like this. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was such a fun fic to write, and I enjoyed it immensely! I hope you did as well. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading. Don't hesitate to drop off some kudos and please leave a comment; I do so appreciate them! 
> 
> Ta!
> 
> -SOBS

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Just A Touch](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20715551) by [deli (deliciousirony)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deliciousirony/pseuds/deli)


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